Sanctimonia Vincet Semper
by Emma Scamander
Summary: A year after the war, Draco is the new head of the Malfoy House. Oh, and he's apparently getting married. Some classic Malfoy sneering, a little bit of angst, and arson ensue. But Malfoys can handle anything, right? My first attempt at fanfic. Eep!
1. Draco Malfoy Still an Arrogant Git

**A/N: My first fan fic! Exciting, no? Always had a soft spot for Draco.**

**Also… lotsa favorites, almost no reviews. [insert sad statement asking for reviews here] Hope you like it! It's loads of fun to write. **

**Updated for typo correction 27/1.**

Focus. That was all he needed. He needed to focus on something until his grey eyes were glazed over and void of emotion. He was good at focusing. It was a useful skill. Draco Malfoy scanned the room. As his eyes passed over a jumbled assortment of wizards with Quick-Quotes Quills tucked behind their ears and cameras, a series of bright flashes temporarily stunned him. He contorted his face into his patented Malfoy you-are-but-an-insect-beneath-my-expensive-dragon-hide-boots sneer and ignored the stars dancing in front of his eyes. Good. Better to have the Prophet headline be _Draco Malfoy Still an Arrogant Git _than _Draco Malfoy Cries at Father's Sentencing_. He paused upon seeing a shockingly bright orange head. The Weaslette. He would focus on her hair. Not to mention her putrid choice of mauve robes. Yes. Staring at the Weaslette would provide him both with a point of focus and a reason to continue sneering.

Draco narrowed his eyes until the world around him became a watery blur, keeping all his attention focused on that unfortunate red hair. He was vaguely aware of his mother grasping his hand to the point of cutting off circulation as if she was not already aware of the outcome of the day… but Draco wasn't thinking about that. He was staring at the smear of orange at the center of his vision. Red hair. Red hair.

A sudden jab to his ribcage jarred him back to his senses. "Stand up, Draco!" hissed his mother. He blinked and the scene around him swam until he noticed that everyone except himself was standing as the Wizengamot took their places in the court room. He quickly rose to his feet. A heavy hush had descended, pressing itself into all the available space. Narcissa was apparently attempting to squeeze the life out of his hand. "Mother, I don't understand why you're so anxious." he said, continuing to stare straight ahead.

His mother did not turn to look at her son. "Draco Abraxas Malfoy, for Merlin's sake, could you at least pretend to be concerned about your father?"

Focus. Focus on that disgusting orange and mauve abomination. "Not, really, no. All apologies."

Narcissa sniffed.

Mauve and orange. Mauve and orange. Mauve and… "All rise for the Minister of Magic."

Draco tugged his now mottled-purple hand from his mother's death grip and stood. Kingsley Shacklebolt, the recently appointed Minister of Magic, swept into the room. His strides were long and purposeful, and his assistant had to skip to keep up. Draco noticed the grotesque shade of orange that covered the assistant's head. _Another Weasley_. At least he had heard that this one had been of some vague intelligence, but compared to the others that was hardly a compliment. What was his name? Percival? Patrick? Pompadour? Something like that.

Shacklebolt seated himself at the head of the Wizengamot and reached for his gavel. Three slow _bangs _resounded throughout the courtroom, each one like a physical blow. "The prisoner is to be brought in!" announced Shacklebolt, and the double doors at the end of the court room opened. The emaciated remains of what probably used to be a person were brought in by two guards. Several boos and one shout of "_Murderer!" _were released by the audience, but the figure seemed to take no notice. A sneer was etched on his pointed face. He shook his long white blonde hair out of his face and turned to the direction of the shout. "Quite," he smiled, and allowed himself to be seated in a chair at the center of the room. Chains sprang from the floor and wrapped themselves around his limbs.

_Hello, Father_, thought Draco. He decided to shift his focus to Pompadour or whatever his name was Weasley's enormous white quill, with which he had already begun to furiously scribble minutes. Draco wondered what they recorded-

_10:15- The Minister entered. Fitting applause followed. Must remember to polish Minister's_

_ Boots. Will lick them if necessary. _

_ 10:16- Noticed family sitting together. Must tell them how awful it is to be greeted by a wall of orange. Will strategically seat them next time to avoid this. _

_ 10:18- The Minister called for the prisoner. His voice was extremely authrotative. Must take _

_ notes._

_ 10:19- Lucius Malfoy brought out. Looks like a nightmare. Audience not amused._

Shacklebolt cleared his throat. "Very well then. Are you Lucius Tarquin Malfoy?"

_What's left_, thought Draco, and found that he couldn't suppress a brief feeling of satisfaction which bubbled up and opened his mouth into a slight smile. He quickly tightened his mouth back into a hair-thin line. He could already picture the headline _Former Death Eater Smiles at Father's Sentencing- What Secrets Lie Behind the Sneer?_.

Lucius Malfoy did not blink. "Yes," he said, his voice surprisingly strong and dripping with acidic disdain.

"Mr. Malfoy, are you aware of the charges of which you have been found guilty?"

"If you have forgotten, I pleaded guilty. So yes, I am aware." said Lucius.

Shacklebolt shifted. "Mr. Malfoy, you were found guilty of serving as a Death Eater, hiding both Lord—"he paused for a moment. Even a year after his demise, a cursed feeling still hung over the Dark Lord's name. "Lord _Voldemort_ and known Death Eaters, numerous accounts of all three Unforgivable Curses, specifically thirty-two Imperius Curses, twenty-seven accounts of…"

Orange and mauve. Merlin, even the Weaslette's mother had a superior taste in clothes, if you excluded those disgusting lumps of knitted yarn she insisted on calling sweaters.

Shacklebolt had finished the oration that was Lucius' list of crimes. He rubbed his temples. "The Wizengamot has sentenced you…"

"You are very fortunate, Minister," interrupted Lucius with a voice thick with smugness.

"Pardon, Mr. Malfoy?" said Shacklebolt, setting down his papers.

"Yes," continued Lucius. "How fortunate that the Wizengamot was able to sentence me before The Savior of the Wizarding World passes his wondrous new legislation."

There was an uncomfortable collective murmuring from the audience. Harry Potter hadn't rested after the war—he and his Dream Team had immediately gone to work reforming the Ministry. Potter was especially vehement about abolishing the use of Dementors as Azkaban guards, and the Ministry never said no to Harry Potter. The law was set to be put into action within the next year. And no Dementors meant no Demontor's Kisses. But people still liked to think that they deserved to deal out the highest punishment to those who they believed deserved it, so trials of convicted Death Eaters had gone by surprisingly fast. The Ministry was still anxious to deal out as many Dementor's Kisses as possible before Potter's law became stone. Draco had watched as school friends, cousins, aunts, and uncles had been reduced to shells of their former selves. Draco's own trial would not be for another few months. He pulled absently at the silk sleeve of his shirt under which lay permanent reminders of his own dealings with the Dark Lord. For the meantime, he had pushed thoughts of his own trial away until he could no longer ignore them.

Shacklebolt cleared his throat. Several members of the Wizengamot had blanched to a complexion that looked about as healthy as The Bloody Baron's. The murmuring from the crowd had risen to a cacophony of sounds of sobs and shouts pumping against Draco's eardrums. He closed his eyes for a brief second, and saw only mauve and orange.

The Minister was banging his gavel and crying for order, and his Weasley assistant looked as though he were about to suffer an aneurysm. "Please! Please!" shouted Shacklebolt and the noise receded slightly. "A five minute recess. Yes. Five minutes." He dropped his head to his desk.

"Ah, Minister?" called Lucius Malfoy from the floor.

"What is it you desire, Mr. Malfoy?" Shacklebolt did not raise his head.

Lucius jerked his head toward Draco's directions. "Simply for a moment with my son."

Shacklebolt lifted his head, one eyebrow cocked to the ceiling in suspicion.

"Minister, I hardly see what sort of Dark Magic we will be able to perform in the heart of the Ministry without wands while I am enchained."

"Yes, fine. Five minutes." said Shacklebolt.

Draco's legs were frozen solid. The room's temperature had dropped and he shivered.

"Go, Draco!" Narcissa prodded her son into the aisle.

People scurried out of the way as he passed, and he ignored the whispers that began to surround him in a fog of words.

_"… both accomplished Legillimenses, no telling…"_

_ "… where he gets that sneer…"_

_ "… password to the Pureblood Club or something…" _

He paused at the gate that separated the spectators from the court room floor and took a breath, half expecting his breath to crystallize in the frigid air. Shacklebolt's pet Weasley dashed over to let Draco in, sending him a glare that wasn't exactly welcoming as he did so.

Draco tried to focus on the Weaslette's atrocious robes as he crossed the threshold but he was unable to tear his gaze away from his father. He had planned for this. He knew exactly what he was going to say. Draco bit his lip.

Azkaban wasn't known for its guest hospitality, but he could hardly recognize Lucius. Dark bags encircled his grey eyes which now appeared to pop out of his thin face. _It's the first time I've ever seen him with stubble_, Draco realized, noticing the thin layer of fuzz on Lucius' face. _I'm still terrified of him though_…

His father suddenly smiled. "For such a good Legillimens, you really ought to consider improving your skills at Occlumency. Come closer, Draco; I may be starving, but I am not going to bite."

Draco shuffled forward, and, for the first time in his life, looked down at his father.

"Kneel," snarled Lucius. "And look me in the eyes."

Draco obeyed, and stared into the steely pools which were narrowed at him.

"Draco… Abraxas… Malfoy." He spat the words slowly and deliberately and somehow made Draco feel as though he were being vomited on. His stomach twisted into a tight knot as every comeback he had planned faded into oblivion. "Minister," called Lucius.

"What is it now, Malfoy?" came the voice from above.

"Permission to call my house elf?"

"Granted."

"Pinkie!" called Lucius. There was a small _pop _and a wizened little house elf with green eyes like enormous Christmas ornaments appeared.

"Pinkie has been waiting for Master to call. Pinkie brought what Master told Pinkie to bring before Master went to the bad place!" The elf hopped over, tripping over its ridiculously long pillow case which had probably at some point been a shade of white. The elf held out its fist to Draco and motioned at him to open his hand. Draco did so and the elf dropped whatever it was carrying into his open palm.

The small thing was surprisingly heavy, and Draco picked it up for closer inspection. It was a ring emblazoned with emerald serpents twisting around the words _Sanctimonia Vincet Semper_. Purity always conquers. Draco could have scoffed, but the sound caught in his throat. "It's the family ring," the words stumbled clumsily from his gaping mouth.

"What else did you expect? You are the last Malfoy male; I am obligated to give you the ring."

Draco swallowed.

"Well, put it on, _Mr. Malfoy_."

He slipped the ring onto his finger. "Thank you, Father," he whispered.

Lucius' eyebrows contracted. "Thank you? Thank you? Is the most I receive from you a _thank you_? You always were ungrateful."

"I'm sorry, Father." 

"You are hardly deserving of the name Malfoy. These are our last moments together. I am not going to mince my words. I can only hope that your children are but half as cowardly and sniveling as you have been. You have always known you were a disappointment to me; I have nothing left to say."

"I- I really tried, Father, I-" The words were small and weak and floated into the air and dissipated.

"You _tried_. Isn't that nice. You _tried_. Weakness. You will always be that same little boy who could not even kill a one hundred and fifty year old man. You will always be the boy who was surpassed by a Mudblood at school. You will always be the boy who was knocked off your broom in front of me by a blood-traitor Potter. You will always be the son who has yet to make me proud. The son who always knew somehow that he was never quite good enough. You are nothing right now. And yet I give you my ring. Make me proud, Draco."

"I will try, Father." He felt as though he had just dipped his head into a bucket of ice water.

"What did I tell you about trying, Draco?"

"I mean, I will, Father. I will make you proud. I promise."

His father gave a harsh laugh. "I would make you take an Unbreakable Vow, but you would die. Draco Abraxas Malfoy," he said. "My biggest regret. Leave me."

Draco stood in place for a moment, fingering the ring.

"I said _go_. And Minister?"

"For Merlin's sake, Malfoy, what is it?" snapped Shacklebolt.

"I would like to make an announcement. A dying man's last, request if you will." said Lucius.

"Do what you will, Malfoy." said Shacklebolt.

Lucius snapped his head up, and Draco was amazed how even lying in chains Lucius Malfoy still managed to look as though everyone else were shit beneath his boot. "Attention all! How very kind of you all to attend my sentencing today. I would like to take these last moments to announce that my son, Draco Abraxas Malfoy, is the new head of the distinguished Malfoy House and to inform you all of his official engagement to Ms. Astoria Greengrass. The Malfoy Family will live on."

There was a brief moment of silence in the audience where no one was sure whether to laugh, shout or applaud. There were a few gasps and a single smattering of applause and three expletives. In the reporters' section, a storm of camera flashes blinded those unfortunate enough to be seated by them.

Draco backed up slowly, not taking his eyes off his father all the way to his seat. Narcissa nodded reassuringly at him, her eyes filled with an emotion Draco couldn't quite place. He sat down, and she dusted his forehead with a light touch of her rouged lips. The words _I'm sorry _seemed to float around the two of them, but were left unsaid. They always were. She took his hand. He hadn't expected much from his father, but as always, that had still proved to be excessive.

"Anything new?" she asked.

Draco repressed a sigh. "I mean, it has been awhile since he brought up my Quidditch failings. He never managed to be there when I won anything."

"And?"

"Apparently I'm nothing." Draco's eyes found Ginny Weasley's hair again and he squinted.

"So nothing new."

"Nothing new."

Shacklebolt banged his gavel again. "Enough of this. I have humored you enough. Mr. Malfoy, the Wizengamot has sentenced you to the Dementor's Kiss. Your sentence shall be carried out on the twelfth of September at one o'clock sharp. You will be for the meanwhile escorted back to your cell in Azkaban. I formally approve this sentence." Another gavel bang sealed the fate of the Death Eater, and the guards dragged him from the room. There was a single cheer from the audience, sharp and piercing in Draco's ears. _Bang_. "Court dismissed."

Draco pushed passed the throng of bodies attempting to make their way out of the court room and knocked open the double doors. He made a beeline for the restroom. _Orange and mauve orange and mauve orange orange orange_, he thought as he hurried past the reporters waiting outside the court room. He had meant to make it to the sink. There he could wipe the slick coating of sweat from his burning face and regain his Malfoy composure. That had been the plan at least. Instead he felt his joints collapse into pudding and sank to the middle of the bathroom floor. He let the tears flow, hot and stinging from his eyes. He could feel his heart pounding against his ribs like a caged animal. His stomach seized, and he barely managed to pull himself up to the sink before his body shuddered and he vomited. His whole body wracked with sobs as he repeated the process until he had nothing left to come up. Draco lifted his head and the room seemed to tilt. He stared hard into the mirror and wiped sick from his mouth with his expensive shirt because, afterall, _Who cares? Is Daddy going to yell at_… he stopped. A person had come into view behind his reflection. A person who was probably the person Draco wanted least to see.

"… Malfoy?"

"Get out of here, Potter!" Draco wheeled around. "I said _out_!"

Potter's eyebrows furrowed and he cast a silencing spell at the door. "It's locked, Malfoy."

Draco sank to the floor. "What do you want, Potter?"

Potter shifted uncomfortably. "You know, this reminds me of sixth year…"

Draco groaned at the mention of that disastrous year. "In the bathroom…"

Potter nodded. His green eyes flashed behind his glasses. "Yeah…" He bit his lip.

"Except I haven't got a wand." said Draco, turning away.

"What?" Potter looked confused. "Oh, I forgot about your…"

Draco looked up. "Trial? Yes. Confiscated my wand until the trial. Of course, they didn't really need to… I haven't had a wand since…"

There was another pause.

_Since you took my wand and used it to kill Voldemort_.

Potter nodded. "I never did apologize properly…"

"For killing the Dark Lord?"

He shook his head. "No, for the bathroom. _Sectumsempra_. I should never have used a spell that I found in the margins of a textbook."

Draco's hand flew to his chest and a wince split his face as he remembered the shock he had felt as invisible swords had slashed at him. "If I recall I was in the process of casting a Cruciatus Curse on your arse. You weren't out of line. And Sev- er, Professor Snape got to me before it could scar." _Are we really discussing this_?

Potter nodded again. "Good. Yeah. That's good. Good."

Draco snorted. "As always, your incredible articulation astounds me."

Potter walked hesitantly closer to Draco, dragging his feet. "Listen, Malfoy… I just wanted to make sure you were all right. I saw you talk to your father… and you rushed out of there so quickly…"

"What, saving the entire wizarding world wasn't enough to feed your Hero Complex? If you must know, Potter, it's been absolutely peachy. I'm just _peachy_. After you did away with the Dark Lord my family's fortune was confiscated and my father and I spent some lovely vacation months in Azkaban before they decided to give me a trial at all and kindly put me on house arrest until the past month. But did you know it's still rather socially unacceptable to have a Dark Mark? I've been having a hell of a time doing anything without being spat upon. I've become quite good at dodging dungbombs, though. And it's been absolutely _marvelous _not having a wand. Not to mention the whole part about my family's name being in ruins. So it's been just _peachy_, Potter. Oh, and apparently, I'm also getting married. Would you like an invitation? But where are my manners, how have you been? We simply _must _catch up." Draco stretched and stood up again.

"I'm sorry," said Potter. He stared down at his wand. "I'm sorry about your father."

"No you aren't!" scoffed Draco. "People might say that, but I know they wish they could be the ones to carry out the sentence. I don't blame them. Wish I could."

"At any rate," continued Potter, ignoring this last comment. "I'm sorry you're upset about it. And trust me, Malfoy, if I had my way sooner, he'd be headed to Azkaban right now for good. No Kiss."

Draco made a sound that was halfway between a sob and a laugh. "Yeah. Yeah. Thanks Potter. Just what I needed. Potter's pity. Now, if you excuse me, I am obligated to meet the press and introduce them to my new fiancé. Her name was Astoria, right? Fairly sure she's my cousin," he said. He checked the mirror and grimaced. Shit. He was going to have to ask Potter for a favor. "Could you… just for one second…?" He gesticulated helplessly.

"Wow, Malfoy. Love the eloquence."

Draco sneered. "You're contagious. Please, Potter, may I have your wand?"

"What for?" Potter's grip on his wand tightened.

"Honestly," Draco rolled his eyes. "I can't meet the press looking like this."

"Why not?" asked Potter incredulously. "Your father's just been sentenced to the Kiss. I think you have the right to appear a little upset. And if anyone's had unflattering pictures in the Prophet it's me."

Draco heaved an exasperated sigh. "Yes, Potter, but I'm a _Malfoy_, and that's not what Malfoy's do. We carry on."

Potter thrust out his wand. "Fine. Just one spell."

Draco took the wand and looked in the mirror. "_Tergeo_," Suddenly, his face returned to its normal pallid complexion, his hair to its controlled slicked back state, the tear tracks on his face were erased. He adjusted his collar in the mirror. "There's a Malfoy." he muttered, glancing at his new ring, and handed Potter his wand before pushing past him through the door.

As soon as he exited, the reporters swarmed around him. Draco ignored them. "Ah, Astoria! My darling!" he called, spotting his new fiancé whom he was now certain was also in some way his cousin. He would check the family tree later.

She hurried to Draco, high heels clicking, and slicked back her dark hair with one hand. "My love!" she crooned, and placed her arm around his waist to allow the photographers a better view. "I am never going to forgive my father for this," she hissed through a smile so wide Draco thought it might crack her face into a million pieces.

"Perhaps if your father had had the guts to take the Mark he'd be snogging a Dementor by now. And do I seem thrilled about this situation either?" he asked through a similar grin.

"You're the one who gets the better deal here. Oh, I've always wanted to be a Malfoy, the family famous for its twisted loyalties and corruption. And aren't you my cousin anyway?"

"Just shut up and look pretty." Draco grunted.

"Of course," Astoria turned to him and batted her heavily mascared eyelashes. "I've always wanted to be a Death Eater's wife. Dark Marks have always been my thing. But then again… from what I've heard you weren't much of one. My ten year old sister could have taken Dumble…"

"Ah, look, it's Mother!" said Draco quickly, craning his neck over the sea of cameras and scribbling quills. Narcissa Malfoy was exiting the women's restroom. _Great minds think alike_, thought Draco, watching her smooth her hair. "Welcome to the family, sweetheart." he chimed as he turned back to Astoria, smacking a large and dramatic kiss on her cheek.

"Pleasure," she said, gathering him into an embrace before kissing him back. "_Sanctimonia Vincet Semper_, right?"


	2. Boggarts and Firewhiskey

**A/N: From Pansy's POV for no particular reason… I never liked Pansy myself, but writing her was really interesting and now I truly do think she changed after the War and feel some *le gasp!* pity for her. Changed to past tense 26/1**

"_Shit_!" exclaimed Pansy Parkinson as splashes of steaming tea made contact with her skin. Sticking her Earl Gray flavored thumb into her mouth, she whipped out her wand and vanished the broken shards of what had formerly been her favorite mug. She let out a screech that would rival a Banshee's and ran to her living room to the source of the crash which had startled her. There she found what appeared to be a very sooty Draco Malfoy wheezing with one hand against the fireplace for support. At his feet was what used to be a very expensive and unbroken vase. "Merlin, Dray," she rolled her eyes and twisted her upper lip as Draco spat out a thick mixture of saliva and ash. "Floo much?" A Draco Malfoy die-you-insolent-weevil glare shut her up, but only for a moment. "You really think after all these years you can shut me up with a frown? I'm not a bloody Hufflepuff. You just look like you smell something awful."

Draco responded with an explosive sneeze. "I wasn't-" Cough. "exactly-" Hack. "in-" Retch. "the best state of mind!"

The sentencing. It had been that day. Pansy bit her lip. She did not know why she couldn't simply ask for the verdict, but she pushed the thought to the back of her mind. She _tutt_ed softly. "Honestly," she drawled in a tone that could only be described as Malfoy-esque, and vanished the soot from her friend's body. Draco Malfoy slicked back his hair, once again looking his usual lanky and sullen self. He had grown into his pointed aristocratic features; she had first noticed during their fourth year. Always the Slytherin, he was dressed in impeccably cut grey robes over a green silk shirt. Leave it to Draco to upstage even his female friends when it came to dressing. Pansy grinned at him before flinging her arms around him. She may as well have been hugging a corpse. His muscles felt taut and unyielding, his embrace cold and distant. She pulled away. "You forgot about your breath."

Draco raised a thin eyebrow, but his expression remained unchanged.

A tentative hand rose feebly to Draco's cheek and stroked it. "You look alright. I can hardly tell you were..." She paused, searching for any evidence of tear tracks. "Well. You know. But you forgot about the smell on your breath. You always did have a nervous stomach."

A sour, vomit-tinted sigh enveloped her, but she did not turn away. Instead, she buried her head into his chest and closed her eyes. She had always thought Draco Malfoy to be a bit like a Boggart—only taking its true form outside of prying eyes. And likewise, she had learned never to watch Draco cry. She could feel his heart pounding against his ribs in overtime as his body shook with sobs. The whole outburst lasted less than a minute. Draco had always been good at regaining his composure. She lifted her head and looked into his eyes. The grey pools were already dry, but Pansy wasn't fooled. "Do you want to talk? About the sentencing? Or not. We can talk about anything at all. It doesn't have to be Luc-"

"No," answered Draco, but he had already begun to drag two chairs close together in front of the fireplace. "Not if you're busy."

Her response was another eye roll. "Oh _Merlin_, Dray, I've just been _so _busy, what with my house arrest and all. My social life has never been better. What with you and Blaise dropping by almost twice a week, soon it'll be on par with Granger's, I reckon." She summoned a replacement mug of tea and sipped it thoughtfully before tucking her legs under her body, cat-like. "Tea?"

Draco shook his head. "I'm sorry I haven't dropped by more lately… I've been a little stressed…" He reached across to the coffee table and flipped over the current issue of the Prophet so he could stare at a Witch Weekly ad instead of his father's sneering face below the headline _Final Sentencing of Death Eater Lucius Malfoy—Secrets of the Malfoy House_.

She stared absently into her. She had been strangely good at Divination while in school. She was always a little too good at finding morbid fortunes in her tea leaves. Perhaps that was why she insisted on purchasing only the instant kind from Muggle grocery stores once she left school. "So I imagine you're Mr. Malfoy now," She looked for shapes in the pale liquid but saw nothing.

Draco held out his hand with the Malfoy Family ring. "Going to kiss it, Parkinson?" A weak smile flit across his pale lips, a ghost. "Father's final gift. He was always such a generous man."

Pansy snorted. "Not likely." She had no idea why they were performing such an intricate dance around the issue at hand. It wasn't as if they hadn't known what the result of Lucius Malfoy's sentencing would be… "The Kiss?"

The blonde closed his eyes. "The twelfth of September."

She sucked in her breath and allowed the tea to scald the roof of her mouth before swallowing. "Can't say I'm sorry," she said, but nevertheless reached for his hand.

"Neither am I…" he began, entwining his fingers with hers.

"But…"

"Lucius is still…"

"Your father." she finished.

"Yeah,"

"Dray, it's just us. Tell me." she said almost inaudibly, and moved to his chair, situating herself on his lap.

So Draco told her. He told her about his father's last words to him. How he was nothing. How he was worthless. He refused to look at Pansy as he whispered his father's words. "You are hardly deserving of the name Malfoy…" The words fell like lead from his lips as he chanted them. He had memorized them, immortalized them. "I mean, you think you can leave the war behind, but you can't. It will always be a part of you, engrained at the core of your being. Your failures. Your weaknesses."

Why couldn't he see that she couldn't do this now? Not a war discussion. She wondered when she last had a conversation with Draco that hadn't morphed into one about the war. Not since sixth year, she was sure. She swallowed. "Did he honestly bring up a Quidditch game?"

Draco nodded. "A jab at my Quidditch skills did seem a bit excessive after the whole calling me an ungrateful, worthless piece of shit bit."

"There's more though." said Pansy.

Draco thrust his head back and made a choking sound that could have been a laugh. "Merlin, Pans. You sure you aren't a Legillimens?"

She smirked. "No, I'm not." A sip of tea. "But I am a woman. Same thing."

Draco shifted her to the opposite leg. "There is one thing…"

"Yes?"

The young Malfoy licked his lips. "I am the new head of the Malfoy House…"

"Yes?"

"Don't you get, Pans? I am the last male Malfoy. Do you really think Father, _my father_, would let us die out? I may be his biggest regret, but he's too prideful to let the family go extinct. He's betrothed me. Kind of him not inform me until today,"

Pansy leaned back against Draco. "I figured as much. It could be worse."

Draco twisted his face into a grimace.

She shrugged. "I mean, you could be Lucius." This elicited a bitter laugh. "Gods, I pity that woman. Who is she, by the way? Not me I daresay."

Draco feigned an interest in his cuticles for a moment. "You know Daphne Greengrass?"

"_No_!"

"It's her little sister."

"_No_!"

"Astoria," He shifted in his seat.

Pansy laughed. "Well she has got decent sized…"

"I know, Parkinson!" snapped Draco.

"And a right fine…"

"I _know_, Parkinson!"

"But isn't she your cousin?"

Another choking sound. "Pans, _everyone _at school was my cousin. _You_'_re _my cousin, aren't you? I've stopped keeping track. Slytherin House is just a pureblood family reunion. What can I say? The Malfoys get around."

Pansy sat up. "Hang up a minute, hasn't she still got a year left at Hogwarts?"

The blonde closed his eyes and added up the dates in his mind. "Yes. Yes she does. At least we have a whole year to plan the wedding."

"And name the children. What are some good names for proper pureblood wizarding children these days? I'd say Voldemort's still going to be a bit socially unacceptable, but you could always play it safe and name them after constellations like the Blacks. I quite like Equueleus."

Draco released a long groan. "Someone paid attention in Astronomy…"

Pansy tapped her forehead. "O on the O.W.L. What were you, barely an E?"

"The terrible thing is I could actually see it. Equueleus Malfoy. That sounds like a Slytherin prefect right there."

"Diomedes Malfoy,"

"Neoptolemus Malfoy,"

"Orestes,"

"I quite like Pericles."

"Draco Malfoy's just as awful, you realize."

"Says Pansy Parkinson? _Pansy Parkinson_? Ms. Alliterative-extroidinaire? I sat in the front row of D.A.D.A fourth year. Professor Moo-"

"Barty," she corrected.

"Whatever." Draco groaned. "Bollocks to Polyjuice potion. He used to spit his p's. I hated when he called on you. I don't think I've ever quite forgiven you for that."

"Astoria Malfoy."

He turned to look her in the eyes, his face hard. "Pans, I'm getting married!"  
"That _is _what becoming betrothed generally entails…"

"You don't understand, I'm getting _married_!" Another groan. "Have you got firewhiskey?"

Pansy shook her head. "No! You could barely floo here. I'm not letting you floo back drunk. You'll probably end up in Harry Potter's basement or something."

"But _Pans_! I can stay here, can't I? Just for one night?"

"No, Draco. Not tonight. Your mother needs you. Her husband's just been sentenced to the Kiss, the least you could do is spend the night at the Manor."

"My mother," sneers Draco. "needs no one."

"Just like you don't?"

"Shut up,"

"Firewhiskey?"

"Please,"

They drank mostly in silence until Pansy set down her glass. "I always figured it'd be you and me. Married. I was going to redecorate the Manor. Those peacocks your father has strutting around the lawn are heinous. Dull Ministry jobs. A couple of kids. Equueleus and all that."

Draco refilled his glass. "So did I,"

"I guess it all comes down to looking goodin the end, doesn't it? Anything for the family name. The Greengrasses have a much cleaner record than my family and the Malfoys…"

"Is it really worth the analogy, Parkinson?"

Parkinson. She had hoped for different initials. "Draco…"

"What?"

Pansy swallowed a lump in her throat. "Do you remember when we used to go together?"

Draco turned her face toward his own and she felt her stomach drop. "'Course I do." His face split into a messy and lopsided grin. She had always preferred him a little drunk.

She tried to hold back the flood threatening to pour from her eyes. Draco hated it when girls cried. "I really did love you."

Draco put his arm around her softly. "I know."

She swallowed again. "Did you love me? And don't give me any of that bollocks about not loving anything. You're so full of it." The corners of her mouth twitched into a slight smile.

He pulled away. "Merlin, Pans! What kind of a question is that? You know I love you! Even if we aren't together, I'm glad we can still be mates!" He drained his glass.

"That's not what I meant." she weighed her words carefully. "When we were together," She paused. "did you love me the way I loved you?"

The heavy silence that followed lasted for years. "Yes,"

She kissed him lightly on the mouth. She wanted him to stay. Forever. "I think you'd better go home now," she whispered, sliding off his lap and heading to the kitchen.

She didn't let the tears fall until she heard a rather slurred voice shout "Malfoy Manor!" before being carried away by the flames. After that she let the Boggart come out.


	3. In Which the Bastards Get Draco Down

**A/N: Back to Draco's POV, which is probably where it's going to stay. Awk. All comments are greatly appreciated. **

The world was on fire. Hot clouds of ash bit into his skin and eyes as Draco stumbled out of the enormous fireplace. He immediately decided that, strangely, he did not enjoy clouds of burning ash boring holes through his lungs. He managed to choke out, "Last time I floo…"

"Drunk! Totally, utterly _intoxicated_." came a crisp female voice from behind the clouds of soot.

Draco flapped his hands in a rather un-Malfoy-like way and squinted at the moving figure in front of him. At least, he was fairly certain it was moving. And perhaps there was more than one figure. He was not quite sure about that either. Details. "Drunk? Lies. If I were drunk, I would be er… I would be er… I would be…" Inspiration struck him. "This? You see this?" He held up his right hand at the blur in front of him which, he decided, was probably a person. It was much too tall to be a house-elf. "It's my hand. My _right _hand." He held up the other hand and flapped it at the person-shaped smear. "And _this_. _This_ is my _left _hand."

"I wouldn't bet my life on that if I were you…" snapped the voice, and Draco felt a sudden pressure as a wand was jammed into his neck. "_Finite bibentem_."

The fog dissipated in an instant and Draco found himself staring a very angry fiancé, complete with dangerously knit eyebrows and a grimace worthy of a Malfoy. He blinked furiously. Smears of color streamed across his vision, staining random parts of the room black and purple. A throbbing headache left him feeling as though he had been whacked on the head with an anvil. Repeatedly. "Sobriety charm. Always useful," he mumbled as his world shifted from vaguely tilted to upright.

"Mmhm," Her black high heel tapping against the floor was the only sound in the Manor.

Draco tried to drag up the girl's name from the dredges of his Firewhiskey-drowned memory but found nothing but a few errant vowels strewn about. "As…" he paused. "Astria! And how are you, my lovely little pureblooded petunia?"

_Tap_. _Tap_. "I wouldn't bet my life on that if I were you," she said in a sing-song voice about ten octaves higher than nature normally allowed.

Draco looked her up and down, and realized that he hardly knew this girl. She had inherited the characteristic Greengrass good looks- Draco had actually snogged her sister Daphne on and off for a few months in fifth year, but he would never let that slip out. For starters, Pansy would have probably Cruciatus-ed his brains out, and even so, with his new engagement, it probably would not be in his best interests to tell anyone. "Asteria?"

_Tap. Tap. _Although her mouth appeared to be plaster-cast into a permanent rosy frown, she managed to further twist it into a sneer that could rival his Aunt Bella's.

_We _must _be cousins_, he thought. _At least through the Blacks… I mean everyone's cousins here... _What was it Blaise had called parties at Malfoy Manor? Death Eater ice cream socials? Some sort of Muggle reference like that…

_Tap. Tap. _

The house felt dead. The green décor made his stomach churn. The tapestries hung limply. He was surprised that he had ever felt at home in this cold room of busts and portraits of past Malfoys. It had at one time been the sitting room when the Malfoys had actually had guests to entertain. Or had schemes to kill Harry Potter and put Mudbloods in their rightful place to scheme. Same thing. Family bonding. The couches were the type that had been somehow constructed so that it was impossible to feel at all comfortable on them…

_"For Merlin's sake, sit up _straight_, Draco!" hissed Bellatrix Lestrange in his ear. "Slouching really isn't a good look on you, sweetie. What will the Dark Lord say when he thinks Cissy's had a hunchback for a child?" _

Draco shook his head as if it would shatter the jumbled memories which filled the room with whispers long gone. They encircled him, entranced him, chained him… Bellatrix sent chills crawling criss-crossing up his spine as she whispered in his ear. Amycus Carrow thumped him soundly on the back as Draco announced that he would be a Slytherin prefect. He and Crabbe were second years, playing wizard chess, trying not to wonder what their fathers could not discuss in front of them…

_"Malfoy, please, it isn't worth the…" _

_ "Hush up, Crabbe!" hissed Draco, pushing his ear against the cold door. A jumble of muffled voices was all he received. "Look, if you don't want to find out what they're talking about in there, you can go play dress up with the girls. It's about the attacks on Mudbloods, I know it is. Don't you want to hear if Granger's next?" _

_ Crabbe's pudgy face was set in a worried frown. "Malfoy…"_

_ That was when the door had clicked open. "Run, Crabbe!" he screamed, and did not look behind him until he was in the gardens. _

_Tap. Tap_.

"How the hell can you stand there tapping your bloody foot when the Dark Lord himself sat on the couch right behind you?"

She paused in mid-tap.

Draco felt his face flush with satisfaction as he saw her eyes widen to a size slightly shy of dinner plates. "Well, that shuts you up," he said. "Ms. Asteria Malfoy."

"I wouldn't bet my…" the faint whisper dies and fades into the memories surrounding it.

A sharp voice made the both of them jump. "My boy!" An oil paint Abraxas Malfoy adjusted the double serpent clasp of his expertly shaded cloak from across the room. "Even I can tell from here that that girl is a Greengrass, and my eyes are painted on. I do believe that her name is Astoria. Good family, the Greengrasses. Very pure. Welcome to the family, my dear." Draco watched as his grandfather faded from the portrait, leaving behind a squabbling albino peacock which had been painted beside him.

"That's Grandfather," Draco pointed to the now sans-Abraxas portrait. "He's probably visiting Grandmother in one of the guest bedrooms… he calls the peacock Nevius."

"Oh," said Astoria, and smoothed the front of her dress, looking suddenly very uncomfortable.

"Mother!" exclaimed Draco. A red heat bloomed over his face. He needed to see his mother. That was why he had flooed back to the Manor. Otherwise he would have spent the night at Pansy's. Otherwise he would be… "Shit! Where is she?"

Astoria slumped as she let out a groan. "She's locked herself up somewhere. _I _don't know how to find her. This place is obnoxiously large if you haven't noticed. Have you at least got a secret swimming pool anywhere?"

Draco snorted. "Yeah, well you get used to it. No swimming pool, but we have got a bunch of secret rooms with some bewitched artifacts of dubious legality that would probably give that Muggle-lover Arthur Weasley an orgasm. Did you know he enchanted a car? A Muggle death trap? Honestly."

Astoria seemed unamused. Her dark eyes were looking at Draco, but her focus was on the striped couch Draco had so fleetingly pointed to. _When the Dark Lord him bloody self sat on the couch behind you_… "I hate to be rude, darling, but I've had absolutely no company all day except for your house-elves and three reporters hiding in your shrubs. Don't look at me like that!I _tried_ to talk to your mother but some ruddy elf named Plinky wouldn't let me through…"

_"Where's Mother, Father?" Draco said as he entered the drawing room. _

_ Lucius Malfoy was bent over an ancient looking book bound with leather. His hair was tied back. Lucius only tied his hair back when he was busy. "She's gone to France, Draco. Do not fret over it. Go and find Bella and practice your Legillimency. She tells me your skill in the subject is as of yet… lacking. And you have your… mission."_

_ A tingling prickled down his arm where he had been cursed with the Mark. Funny. He had heard some Mudbloods at school once talking about how Muggle children graffitied their bodies to rebel against their parents, not to be accepted by them… "I've almost repaired it, Father. The mission will be a success. But Mother. Why has she gone? She didn't tell me she was leaving."_

_ His father flipped a yellow page with a crinkling sound and gazed at it with ravenous eyes. There was a small chicken-scratch drawing of a triangular symbol Draco was sure he would hear about eventually and would most likely involve some shit plan to redeem his family's honor to the Dark Lord or whatever. "Draco, are you a first year? Your mother does not have an obligation to tell you anything. I suppose she simply feels rather stressed what with housing…" _

_ "You mean she's terrified by him." _

_ At this Lucius slammed the book shut, sending a swirl of dust into the air. He sprang to his feet and slammed shut the door with flick of his wand. _

_ "He can hear through the walls you know. He hears everything we say. Don't bother with the door."_

_ For a moment Draco thought his father would vomit. "Draco…" he said, and a single drop of sweat had beaded on his forehead. "I think you ought to go practice Legillimency." The drop of sweat rolled slowly down his face._

_ That drop of sweat had demolished any small amount of faith Draco had left in his father. "Yes, Father." he spat, and spent the next hour and a half trying to block his aunt from seeing things he would much prefer she wouldn't._

"His name is Pinkie!" shouted Draco. He had to scream over the whispers. They were overlapping, interrupting each other, filling the room, competing for space. "Stay here, alright?"

"Can I sit on the Voldemort-couch?" she scoffed.

Ignoring this, he pushed through the swirl of whispers and blindly ran up the grand staircase, his footsteps echoing on the marble. He paused at the door to his mother's dressing room and slammed his fist against the door. "Mother! Let me in! I'm sorry that I've been so long!"

There was a small _pop _and Pinkie appeared, still green eyed, still pillowcase-clad. "Master!" he squeaked. "Pinkie's Mistress told him not to let anyone in…"

"Yes, but your Mistress doesn't have the Malfoy Family ring, now does she?" said Draco. He waved his hand with the ring in front of Pinkie's wrinkled face.

Pinkie's eyes darted back and forth with the movement of Draco's hand. "Pinkie… will… but… Mistress!" The elf did a strange sort of dance and hopped around desperately. Giant tears made marks down the elf's dirt smeared face and he emitted a wailing sound reminiscent of a tea kettle in mourning.

"No matter what you do, you'll end up bashing your head against the bloody wall, so you may as well do what your Master says." said Draco over the house-elf's lament.

Pinkie sniffed, but proceeded to snap at the door. There was a click as the lock was released, and Draco opened the door, ignoring the elf who had already launched himself against the banister and began to beat his head against it with loud _wham_s.

The room was empty. The closet had been raided, her makeup was gone… Draco rushed over to the mirror, which _tsk_ed at him and yelled for him to "do something now" or he'd "have wrinkles before his twenty-fifth birthday", and grabbed a piece of parchment attached to it.

_Draco-_

_ I have gone to France on personal holiday. Do not feel the need to join me; I will be back by the twelfth. If any reporters ask, I am simply visiting my sister Andromeda. _

The twelfth. Draco winced.

_Do try to keep out of trouble. Lay low until your trial. Astoria will not be returning to Hogwarts until the first of September, and both her father and I have agreed that you two should attempt some bonding. Please do not kill her in the next two weeks. She is a very sweet girl, and reminds me of myself at that age._

"So I can be Lucius Malfoy the sequel… excellent." he muttered.

The mirror informed him that if he didn't stop squinting now, he'd develop terrible crow's feet. He considered punching it.

_Please remember that I love you…_

Draco skimmed this section of the letter. Narcissa always wrote the same things when she felt guilty.

_And, Draco, you may be the head of the Malfoy House, but I believe you ought to take today's events like a Black. So illegitimis non carborundum. Don't let the bastards get you down._

_ Love from,_

_ Your mother _

A sense of liberation filled his chest and made him feel light. This was a much better option than having to hold his mother's hand while she pretended not to cry. _I much prefer shagging Pansy_… Shit. Astoria. He had forgotten about that whole fiancé thing.

"Are you aware that there's an unconscious house-elf lying outside of this room?" Astoria clicked into the room. "Where's your mother?"

Draco glanced outside at the tiny pink body slumped on the floor. "He does that a lot. He'll be alright… she's gone to France until Father Dear spends some quality time with the Dementors."

Astoria peered over his shoulder at the letter. "Did she say anything special?"

"No," he said. "Nothing new. Now prepare yourself. I'm giving you the full tour of the Manor."

Astoria rolled her eyes. "Should only take about ten years, right?"


	4. Ninetysix

**Ninety-six **

When Draco was seven, he had counted the rooms in Malfoy Manor. He had run up and down the marble hallways, ordering Dobby to trail behind him with a piece of parchment for tallying. "Ninety-six." he announced.

Astoria replaced a photograph of a chubby-faced baby Draco caught in an endless laugh back onto Narcissa's dresser. "What?"

"There are ninety-six rooms in this place."

A sapphire necklace became the next subject to Astoria's inspection. She held it up and pointed to the tiny serpent charm dangling at the bottom, her face stretched into a tight grimace. "Must _everything _you own in this family have to have _snakes _on it? I understand Slytherin pride, but _honestly_, if you think I'm having snakes at my wedding…"

"I said that there are ninety-six rooms in this place."

She situated herself in front of the mirror. White hands worked the clasp of the necklace and fixed it around her neck. "So I heard,"

"Ninety-six."

She smoothed back her hair. "Yes?"

"There are ninety-six rooms in this place and there have never been more than eleven Malfoys living here."

A sigh. She turned to face Draco, eyes flashing with the reflected green of the serpent. "So are you telling me that a full tour is out of the question? Although, if I'm going to live here, I ought get to know the place."

"No, I'm saying that…" he paused as the whispers of memories from the parlor drifted up the stairs and consumed him.

_He was_…

"No," he shook his head violently, blonde locks escaping their slicked-back prison. "Not again. No." Images raced through his mind. A white fire began to sear on his left arm and creep up… he could swear the ink serpent was twisting, writhing…

Astoria raised a thin eyebrow. "Do you need another Sobriety Charm?"

The fire faded to a tingle. He hadn't felt anything… he _couldn't _possibly feel anything. The Mark was dead. "What I was saying," He was suffocating. The lavender perfume his mother wore was a thick fog of unsaid nostalgia in the air, heavy and pressing in his lungs. Draco swallowed. "is that you're getting a tour."

Astoria released a small house-elf-like yelp as Draco grabbed her by the wrist and dragged her down the marble stairs, into the drawing room, down the hall, into the atrium… He stopped.

A cold chill permeated throughout the air. "Welcome," Draco's voice boomed throughout the room, bouncing off the statues of past Malfoys. "to Malfoy Manor, where purity _always _conquers. May I take your coat?"

He rolled his eyes at the sound of Astoria gasping—the Manor tended to have that effect on people. What was impressive about the room was the not its green marble sheen nor its lofty heights. It was not the statues of generations of Malfoy patriarchs looming above them. What left visitors to the Manor dumbstruck was the monstrous emerald-inlaid tree stretching around the four walls, surrounding them with golden branches of surnames and leaves and leaves of names of constellations and ruby serpents which slithered around them and made the room alive with a red shimmering that reflected in a firestorm of pureblood names and marriages and dates. Draco dragged Astoria to the center wall, and pointed silently at the twisting golden twigs that formed the words _Draco Abraxas Malfoy_, accompanied by the date of his birth and a small, sneering painting of his face. He wordlessly dragged his finger up through his maternal ancestry and into the branches of the Black family, skipping over the holes where blood traitors and squibs had been eliminated and crossing over surnames until he came to _Astoria Verity Greengrass_. The painted Astoria did not seem much happier to be there than the painted Draco. A snake entwined itself around the letters of her name, resting its head on _Daphne Victoria Greengrass_ before slithering off toward the Crabbe-Malfoy intersection. "There," he said. "We're third cousins by marriage. Could be worse." He jerked his head toward the branches of the Gaunt family and he shuddered. "With so much bloody intermarriage," he said, gazing at the convoluted mass of pureblood loyalties before him. "It's a wonder I turned out this gorgeous."

"I wouldn't bet my life on that if I were you." said Astoria, but the corners of her mouth twitched upwards as the words escaped her lips. Her eyes scanned the walls. "So the Gaunts are listed here?"

"_Everyone _is on this wall, Greengrass. If you ever want a background check on anyone in Slytherin, just check here. I'm related to everyone… I… oh." The realization of what she was asking dawned on him and he nodded curtly. "Yes. Yes, he's listed here. Over on that wall." He pointed to the right wall of the atrium.

Astoria clicked away toward the rightwing branches and scanned a finger over the wall. Draco heard a small gasp and knew what was burning itself into her memory. Near the bottom of the tree, beneath a burnt away leaf that should have read Merope were sixteen little golden letters that had brought the wizarding world to its knees—_Tom Marvolo Riddle_. "Funny," she whispered in what was little more than a croak. "That he's still…" Her voice dropped to inaudible. "Merlin! He was a… half-blood? All his talk about blood purity and pure-blood supremacy and…" The whisper dissipated.

"Anyway," Draco walked over to the wall and grabbed a hold of Astoria's wrist again, and pulled her out of the atrium. "In case you were interested, that's where I first met Fenir Greybeck. Not the best first impression. He gets a little testy the day before a full moon."

Astoria blinked, and allowed herself to be drawn into the parlor.

The memories that haunted the room drifted around Draco's head like the clouds of dust in the sunlight. He waved them away. "I've already showed you this room. Anyway, the Dark Lord sat on that couch. And that…" He pointed toward the doorway. "That's where the Snatchers lined up the Golden Trio so I could identify them. And that…" he pointed at a chess set on a mahogany table. "That's where I learned to play wizard chess with my father."

The dining room managed somehow to be even less warm than the atrium. It was filled with a heavy darkness and was left naked by the painfully obvious lack of a chandelier. They never had bothered to replace the one Dobby had toppled… "That chair? That was where the Dark Lord sat." He moved around the great table, tapping each chair. "Father at his right hand, of course. I by Father. Yaxley here. Dolohov here. Aunt Bella sat wherever she could make sure the Dark Lord could look down her shirt." He snorted. "Makes you want to take a bath, doesn't it? Anyway. Crabbe. Goyle— the seniors, of course. Their sons are bloody Hufflepuffs at best. Avery. Gibbon. Gibbon… he got the Kiss just a month ago, I think. Pity. The Carrows. Lovely couple, Amycus is a brilliant chess player. Almost as good as his Cruciatus curse. That being said, I did use to lose on purpose whenever I played him… Rowlfe. Nott Senior. Severus Snape." The names of Death Eaters rolled off his tongue as he moved down the line of chairs. Satisfaction bubbled in his chest as Astoria flinched with each syllable. "Oh, and this is where Aunt Bella tortured that Mudblood Granger." Draco searched the wall with his hand before pushing on one of the stones. "And these…" he said as the the stones began to shift and rearrange themselves. "are our dungeons. Finest guest services in the wizarding world."

Astoria gazed into the blackness and gulped. "I think I've seen enough of them from here, thank you."

Draco tapped the stone and the dungeon entrance faded into rock. "Suit yourself. Dungeons are fairly predictable. We've got the standard, pitch-black, dripping, barely enough room to stand kind. In case you're interested, we kept quite a few people down there. A few goblins. Ollivander. Some stupid kids from school. Potter and his pet Weasel. Me."

"You?"

"Yeah, me. Bella thought it was quite funny to lock me in overnight."

"Oh…"

"On with the tour!"

Astoria was dragged from room to room to room. The tapestries faded into one another as did the harsh steely oil eyes of countless Malfoy portraits whose expressions screamed of judgment, but the stories of the rooms had embedded themselves into her heart like individual stab wounds.

An empty study. "This is where the Dark Lord told me that if I was going to cast a Cruciatus Curse, I should know what it felt like."

"Did he…?"

Draco glanced at a half-written bank note on the desk. His father had been working on finances when the Aurors had come… "Do you think I can cast Cruciatus?"

"I suppose so… I saw you… during the Battle…"

"You just answered your question."

_The agony had blasted through his body, white-hot, consuming every bit of his skin as every finger, every toe, every hair screamed out for mercy. Liquid fire coursed through his veins, searing and burning and boiling as Draco writhed on the floor and bit at his lip. He could not cry out, he would not cry out, he could not… A copper taste filled his mouth as he attempted to suppress the scream. "I understand!" he heard the words tear themselves from his bloody lips, coarse and shrill and anything but distinguished. "I can cast it!" And the fire had ceased, and the Dark Lord had laughed. _

_ "Good, Draco. Wormtail, fetch the Lovegood girl from the dungeons. Let us see if I have taught Draco well enough." _

A guest room drowning in green and silver. "This is where I showed Mother my Mark."

_"What have you done?" her voice shook with a fierce vibrato that bore holes into Draco's stomach. "What did you do?"_

_ Draco pulled up his sleeve to reveal the twisted rivulets of ink that now moved across the pale skin. "What you've been training me to do since the day I was born! What you know I have to do! What you…"_

_ Narcissa had taken a vacation to France. _

A locked door. "There's nothing in this room."

"What is it?"

"My bedroom," he said, turning away from the door. "There's nothing there."

Nothing but memories and molded nostalgia for wallpaper. His bed sheets were quick snogging-sessions with Pansy while the world around them prepared for war. His bedposts were the long hours which bloodshot eyes spent staring at Voldemort's permanent stamp upon his skin, waiting for the too-familiar burn of new orders. His closet was full of the lies which had spilled so seamlessly past his lips. And floating on the ceiling, always, were Dumbledore's final words to him…

What if he had accepted? What if he had gone into hiding? What if…

_"You are not a killer, Draco." _Three years later, and the eyes behind the half-moon spectacles still shone as brightly as ever. Three years later, and Draco Malfoy was still wondering.

Ninety-six rooms. Ninety-six stories.

It was nearly midnight when they returned to the parlor. Draco smiled weakly. "I can't tell if you're going to slap me or hug me."

Astoria circled the couch Draco had shown her. "I don't know anymore."

"He's dead, Astoria. You can sit on it." He threw himself onto the couch and patted the seat next to him. Astoria remained standing. "Where are your things?" he asked.

"_Accio _trunks," she muttered, and her luggage clunked into a neat stack beside her. "Why?"

A sudden heat had begun to warm Draco's blood, redden his fingertips, quicken his breath… "Because. I think that you should wait outside."

"Why? What's happening?"

Draco smirked. "Did you see anything you liked, Mrs. Malfoy? Everything here is yours now, afterall. Summon anything you want and wait outside. I'd keep a safe distance if I were you."

Astoria crossed her arms. "Malfoy, what the hell are you going to do?" Her eyebrows shot up in an arch on her forehead.

"Well, _Mrs. Malfoy_," he said, stretching across the couch with a sneer. "I'm going to do things the Muggle way."


	5. In Which Draco Goes Muggle

**In Which Draco Does Things the Muggle Way **

In the end, he had to do it the Muggle way. For starters, Draco was at the time rather lacking in the wand department, and the Manor was covered with protective charms from most destructive spells. And most importantly, he knew of no better way to make his father's stomach churn.

Manic with the simple brilliance of it, he rushed Astoria outside and grabbed a fistful of floo powder from the shelf above the fireplace. Draco's heart pounded a furious drumbeat against his ribs and a thin sheen of sweat was covering his entire body as an excited heat spread over his skin. His throat felt dry and cracked, but he didn't care. This was it. This was his moment. Thrusting his head back in a deep, shuddering laugh, he tossed the floo powder into the fireplace.

Green flames licked at his lower body as he doubled over in laughter. Holding his gut as the laughs burst unbidden from his throat he barely managed to cry out "Leakey Cauldron!" before a rush of ash bit into his eyes and he was swept up into a swirl of vermillion light.

Still shaking with laughter, Draco stumbled into the darkness of the pub, and ignored the staring eyes that bored into him and the sudden whispers.

A slurred voice shouted out, "Oi! Is that the Malfoy boy?"

Draco paused and took in an ale-stained breath before smoothing back a stray lock of hair from his suddenly slick forehead. A salty flavor filled his mouth when he licked his cracked lips. "It's Mr. Malfoy, now, actually. As of this morning. The one and only!" He smoothed the ash from his robes, sending a swirling cloud of soot into the air before exiting the pub without a word.

Draco Malfoy stood, robed and sweating in the middle of Muggle London, attempting to hold back the laughter that was bubbling up his throat and threatening to boil over. Draco blinked to get his bearings and allowed a small giggle to pass through.

A cacophony of city sounds crashed into his eardrum as he was bombarded with flashing lights and signs and double-decker buses. Muggle London! Another laugh escaped his throat as he imagined what his father would say if he could see him… _Composure, Draco_… or some stupid shit like that. "Composure my arse!" he shouted at no one in particular, and pushed his way through the bustling Muggle crowd until he came to a convenience store.

Breathless, he sauntered up to the cash register, attempting his best look-at-me-you-sniveling-buffoon-I-am-a-Malfoy look, but his face quickly cracked into a slightly crazed grin. A wild look shone in his steely eyes, lighting them with a ferocity he had never known he possessed. "Look, I want to start a fire. What do you have?"

A hazy look of confusion passed over the clerk's face, a teenager with an unfortunate amount of acne and hair that seemed almost as unruly as the mop that covered Potter's impossible-to-kill head. "Er… pardon me?"

Draco clapped his hands together. "I said a _fire_, you bloody little Hufflepuff! What have you got for fires?"

The clerk pointed down an aisle. "We have got matches…"

The rhythm in his chest pounded at an inhuman speed. "Matches! Yes! That's what you call them! Never did take Muggle studies. The sticks that make fire, right? Right? I rub them together and everything goes up in flames like magic?"

The clerk seemed to be very uncomfortable. "Er, well, there's the rough stuff on the side and you've got to strike the match across it…"

"That's excellent! Really excellent! And what will catch fire? I want a lot of fire. Potions experiment."

"Er… chemistry?"

"Yes, yes, that."

"Well, you could always use petrol… there's a station down by…"

"Excellent!" called Draco, already headed down the aisle. He grabbed six or seven boxes of the Muggle fire sticks and thrust them into his robe pockets. "Excellent!" He rushed out of the store, ignoring the half-hearted protests of the clerk who was insisting he had to "pay for those things" or some nonsense like that.

He found his way to the petrol station after demanding directions from several rather frightened looking Muggle women who had asked him if he was homeless. They showed little appreciation for his thirty-galleon robes.

At the petrol station, he quietly filled five cans with the foul-smelling stuff before sauntering off into the night and returning to the Leakey Cauldron.

Conversation ceased as Draco wordlessly stepped once again into the emerald flames. "Malfoy Manor!" He smirked as he felt himself transported there for the final time.

He placed his Muggle purchases on the mahogany table and snapped for the family house-elves to assemble.

Twelve droopy-eyed, wrinkled little creatures stood before him, fidgeting with their pillow sack dresses. "Yes, Master Draco?" they squeaked in unison.

The fire in his blood was back, coursing through his veins and bringing a red heat rushing to his face. "Gather any laundry and bring it here. _Now_!"

The elves bumped into each other and ran off to separate directions of the manner, coming back covered in socks and undergarments.

Draco attempted to control his breathing rate, but to no avail. "Now," he said breathlessly, "Drop them by my feet and get in a line."

The elves did so. Pinkie now sported a large lump on his head from his earlier rendezvous with the marble banister and was currently doing his best to stay awake and failing miserably.

Draco sifted through the laundry before picking up a silky pink brassiere. "Pinkie," he said.

The elf's monstrous ears perked up. "Y-yes, Master Draco?"

Draco tossed the thing at Pinkie, who caught it and nearly fell over with shock. "You were always good to your Mistress. Keep it."

Pinkie clutched the pink brassier to his chest as though it were a priceless artifact. "Master is… is presenting P-Pinkie with _clothes_?"

"Yes," said Draco. "You're free. Ta-da!" He waved his hands dramatically.

Pinkie's eyes widened until they covered at least three-quarters off his face. Grinning toothlessly, he fastened the brassier around his head like some form of atrocious earmuffs before flinging himself at Draco and wrapping him in an embrace.

Draco patted the elf, who was now weeping quite loudly, on the head. "Anyway," he said, pushing the newly earmuffed Pinkie away. He reached again into the pile and pulled out various socks and pairs of underwear and began to fling them at the house-elves. Draco suddenly found himself in a ring of weeping house-elves with underwear hats hugging and thanking him and… "You're getting bloody elf snot all over my robes! Shouldn't you be having a wild elf celebration or something? Going mad with Butterbeer and all that? Go!"

The elves gave him a final knee-embrace before tearfully apparating in a series of _pop_s.

Draco sighed and glanced around the parlor, shaking. All of it was cold and lifeless and Draco suddenly realized that he wanted to keep nothing. Nothing except…

Draco took five things from the Manor and placed them in his robe pockets. The first was his Slytherin prefect badge. The second was an old family record book his father had never allowed him to touch. The third was a photo album of him and his housemates circa his fourth year. Before everything had changed. The fourth was a battered old copy of _The Tales of Beedle the Bard _his mother had read to him as a child. The fifth was a photograph. Narcissa had taken most of the albums with her when she had fled to France, but Draco had found the photograph in his father's study. It was a photo of a ten year old Draco Malfoy and a beaming Narcissa. Draco had not yet begun slicking back his hair and their shining golden locks were blowing in the sunlight. Draco's face was contorted in a ridiculous grin, caught in a loop of endless laughter. Where had they been? Scotland? France? It didn't matter to Draco. All that mattered was Narcissa's smile. He pocketed the photograph.

He had long pictured this moment. He had started with his father's desk with a simple _Incendio_, or in the dining hall. He hadn't pictured the object of his rage to be an old striped couch.

_When the Dark Lord himself sat on that couch… _

"You had your fun, Riddle." said Draco, and poured the petrol over the couch. Slowly, he opened the box of the fire sticks and read the instructions on the label. They informed him to simply strike the fire stick across the side…

A smear of flame bloomed on the end of the fire stick, and Draco jumped back in surprise. "Just like…" he said, dropping the fire stick on the couch.

There was a roar as a column of searing flames consumed the couch and began to eat everything around them. The walls were alive with rippling orange and yellow heat. A sharp screech filled the air as Abraxas Malfoy's albino peacock melted into a puddle of oil paints dripping down the wall like candle wax.

"Magic." Draco could feel the monstrous heat of the fire consuming the room. It was time for him to make his final exit from Malfoy Manor. Erupting into a fit of giggles that were anything but Malfoy-like, he pushed open the doors of the Manor and walked straight into a screaming Astoria Greengrass.

"Malfoy! You stupid, stupid idiot! What the fuck did you do!" The burning mass in front of her lit up the tears streaming down her face with an orange glow. "That's our fucking house! You just set fire to the fucking house! _Finite incantatem_! _Finite incantem_!" she screeched, waving her wand furiously.

Draco had collapsed in tears on the ground, overwhelmed by laugher. He fought to fill his lungs with the stinging ashy air. "It's… it's…" he paused to laugh. "It's no use, Greengrass. I didn't use magic. Muggles do it better, my love."

"_Aguamenti_!" she shrieked, and a jet of water streamed from her wand, pathetic against the wall of flame before her.

Draco righted himself and stood up. "I'd advise getting away." He pointed to the top of the hill past the gates. "Or this could become very messy very quickly."

He and Astoria ran out of the gates to the top of the hill before Draco collapsed again on the grass, writhing with laughter.

Astoria, on the other hand, seemed rather unamused by the entire situation. "You… bloody… _idiot_!" she cried, flailing her wand around as she cast countless Summoning charms. "_Accio _ portraits! _Accio _bank notes! _Accio _family jewels!" Malfoy family heirlooms whooshed from the burning Manor to the hillside.

"Really, Greengrass? You think that will do anything?" Draco's lungs were bursting with laughter to the point of excruciating pain. "A portrait of my great-grandfather and a few jewels?"

"You absolute tosser!" she screamed between Summoning charms. "This is our inheritance! This is our home! Merlin's beard, what were you fucking thinking?" She unleashed a series of swears Draco had previously only believed were used in the darkest corners of the seediest pubs in Knockturn Alley. "You burned the house down!"

"It would appear so."

"Arson!"

"Your powers of observation astound me. And it's not arson; it's my own damn house. Who says I can't burn it to the ground?"

"What, tell me, would possess you to do this? What the hell were you thinking? Malfoy? Answer me!" She dragged him to a standing position and drew back her fist and let fire a fantastic punch to Draco's eye.

Draco reeled as he saw stars. "Damn it all, Greengrass! I had to be betrothed to the woman with a right hook better than Gregory Goyle's!"

Astoria made a sound that could only be described as a growl and jumped on Draco, howling and screeching like a wounded animal. "Answer! Me! You! Stupid! Fucking! Malfoy!" she grunted between blows.

"If you would stop beating me I could probably manage to answer!" he squealed, rolling out from under her and shielding his face.

Astoria's eyes were filled with a feral anger generally reserved the yellow slits of Basilisks. "That was our _house_, Malfoy! Our _house_! What are we supposed to do?"

Draco sat up. "Did you honestly think that I still lived at Malfoy Manor, you stupid girl? After everything? After Lord Voldemort sat on my bloody _couch_? You think I could still live there when every day and night I see _his _face? Hear my Aunt Bellatrix torturing Granger? Feel Father's disappointment at everything I attempted? Knowing what a coward I am? You think I lived in that hellhole?" He pointed at the orange smear in the distance. "I moved out the day I got off house arrest. But you know, it's rather difficult to get a home when your entire fortune has been confiscated by the Ministry, and people tend to doubt the veracity of a legal contract with a Death Eater! Don't you realize, Greengrass? We have nothing anyway. Our fortune is gone. The house was dead. Riddle killed what was left of it. All I did was what I wanted to do since I was a little boy."

"That's really romantic and all, Malfoy, but did you have to fucking _burn _the place down? Where do you live? The gutter outside Borgin and Burkes?"

"A little house," he said. "in Muggle London. They call them 'flats'."

Astoria released an inhuman screech of rage. "Muggle London? You live in _Muggle London_? I get betrothed to the only heir of the wealthiest, purest, most wizard-elitist family in the wizarding world, and he lives, by choice, in a fucking _flat_?"

Draco leaned back in the grass. "It's better than Azkaban, which is probably where I'll land myself after my trial. And, do you realize that the front page of the Prophet tomorrow is going to be you and me kissing outside the courtroom? I much prefer this." He gestured at the Manor.

"You're mental!" she screeched. "Absolutely mental! Is that how our marriage is going to work? Whenever you have a bad memory you burn down the bloody house? You… are… _mental_!"

Draco's mouth was stretched into a wide grin as he surveyed his handiwork—both his burning home and his smoldering fiancé.

"My father is going to hear about this! If I'm not betrothed to Blaise Bloody Zabini by noon tomorrow I swear I will Cruciatus your pure-blood arse before you can say St. Mungo's! I swear to you, Draco Malfoy, I will—" Another screech ripped itself from her throat before she apparated away, trunks and Malfoy heirlooms in tow.

Draco simply leaned back and enjoyed the show before him. "Just like magic."

**A/N: Yes, I realize that it doesn't seem like a wise decision to Floo with Muggle petrol. However, I'm assuming that the floo fire is magical and won't cause any epic explosions or anything. xD Plus, Draco's not exactly knowledgeable in Muggle science, even if he did get an O on his Potions O.W.L.**

**All comments are very much appreciated. Please tell me what you think. **


	6. Queen of Hearts

**Queen of Hearts**

**A/N: Pansy's POV. Oops. She's just such a fun character.**

**Ahem. But I digress. All comments appreciated. **

"Malfoy, you stupid tosser!" Pansy Parkinson screeched like a particularly livid bird. Pale brown splotches of tea dripped down her kitchen walls and formed a small Earl Gray puddle. At least her skin had been spared this time. She released a long groan, setting the now mostly empty mug on the counter. "Honestly, Dray, is it that gargantuan of a task for you to Floo without, oh… hello?"

A sooty Blaise Zabini stepped a patent-leather shoed foot gingerly over the shards of Pansy's replacement vase, his eyebrows raised in a skeptical arch. "Obviously you were expecting someone else? I hope you aren't busy…"

She slicked a tea-dampened hand through her black hair. "No, no, it's just Draco stopped by the other day and..." Her sentence dissolved into the air. "And Zabini, I haven't left my house in nearly five months. What could I possibly be busy doing besides playing Exploding Snap by myself?"

Blaise scanned the room. "Making tea, apparently."

A multicolored array of mugs and tea cups dotted the parlor, positioned precariously on tables and chair arms, some drained, some half-filled. She wasn't exactly certain when her tea addiction had begun. It had started as a sleep aid and had rather progressed to the point that she worried her blood had been converted to the stuff… "Blaise, it's barely—" A quick glance at the grandfather clock. "seven-thirty. Why call so early?"

Blaise sniffed. "Well, why are you up?"

She swore under her breath. She was in no mood for Zabini's annoying habit of waltzing suavely around every question thrown at him. "I'm making tea, you tosser. Where are my manners? Would you like some tea? I must say that my skills as a hostess have somewhat atrophied since my friends have taken to stumbling out of my fireplace every hour of the day without so much as a bloody owl… Not to mention breaking everything in their path."

"One disgusting vase is not _everything_, Parkinson. And don't put things so close to the fireplace."

It was hideous vase. She scowled at him, and vanished the broken porcelain from the floor. "Do you always have to be right, Zabini?"

A smirk twitched at the corners of his lips, but suddenly morphed into a grim line. "Pans, did you see the Prophet today?"

"No, I only just got up, and I know what the front page is." She glanced down at the flashing Witch Weekly ad on her table whose opposite side she knew sported the face of one particular Death Eater…

Blaise shook his head, chocolate eyes so dark she couldn't tell where his iris ended and the blackness of his pupils began. "Sit down, Pansy."

"It's my house; don't order me to sit." she said, but obediently collapsed into the chair Draco had sat in the day before. The chair in which she had dusted her Earl Gray lips against his cool ones. The chair in which she had said goodbye. She sighed.

Zabini settled himself in the chair opposite, and pulled out a folded copy of the Daily Prophet from his robes. "Look here," he said, and passed her the paper.

She unfolded it, and her eyes were met with an array of flashing ads and photographs. "Blaise, I don't need to 'tame my rebellious house-elf'…"

"Flip it over."

The sudden leaden hardness apparent in his words made her jump, and with shaking fingers she turned over to the front page. "Merlin, he's gone mental!" she gasped.

"Mhmm," murmured Blaise.

"Like, full-on, Janus Thickey-ward mental!"

"Mhmm,"

Malfoy Manor was caught in a continuous inferno. Flames leapt from its windows as smoke curled around it like acrid tentacles into the night. That was the worst part of seeing a photograph in a wizarding paper… you could never look away. Malfoy Manor was burning and burning and burning and Pansy knew even if she turned the paper over it would keep burning and burning and burning, trapped in an endless loop of ash and fire. The words _Draco Malfoy Sets Ancient Family Home Ablaze After Father Sentenced to Dementor's Kiss_ curled around the photo, an inky serpent.

"It seems like Draco was quite busy yesterday… his father's sentencing, getting betrothed…" he paused and quickly glanced up, but seeing no reaction from Pansy, continued. "So he told you?"

She nodded. "I am no longer Draco Malfoy's property, if that's what you're asking." The words were poisonous, biting.

Blaise flinched. "We're all Draco Malfoy's property."

The statement hung into the air, a shimmering bubble of a truth that was often left unsaid. Pansy popped it. "Burning down a thousand year old manor… very busy indeed."

There was a rustle of fabric as Blaise shifted in his seat. "Malfoy's prouder than a bloody hippogriff. I thought he'd be rotting in that manor counting galleons until the day he died."

"He always said it had too many rooms." she said in a whisper.

Blaise cleared his throat. "Read the article."

Pansy's eyes darted across the page as she took in the words. "He used Muggle fire sticks?"

"Mhmm,"

"Greengrass certainly has a fine right hook."

"Better than Goyle's. I actually thought I might save that picture." He leaned over to watch as a four centimeter tall Astoria Greengrass pummeled a cowering Draco Malfoy.

"That photographer must have a damn good Disillusionment charm."

"I think he wanted them to see."

The next picture documented Astoria endlessly slamming into Draco with a vicious head but to his stomach.

"Wanted us to see, huh?"

"Well… maybe not _that _picture."

"That looks like a healthy start to a marriage."

"I'm worried."

This time she was startled not by the harshness of Blaise's voice, but by the sudden softness. She had felt the tears welling in her eyes when Blaise had made the property comment, burning and wet and so very un-Pansy-like. She had felt them again when she had stared into the twisting fires of the photograph of Manor, watching them dance and twirl and burn for eternity and in that moment she had felt Draco's own anger which had simmered and boiled for so many years finally surfacing and burning and burning and burning like his ninety-six room house. But it was the soft worry eating at the corners of Blaise's tired and frayed voice that had shattered her. Her composure exploded into a thousand little pieces as she collapsed into tears.

She was vaguely aware of Blaise rising from his chair and wrapping his arms around her in a tight embrace. "I know, Pansy."

She looked up, feeling rather undignified with her puffy eyes and runny nose. She sniffed. "I-I haven't even said anything…"

"I still know." he said.

"What are we going to do?" she asked, face buried in Blaise's robes. "I'm getting snot everywhere…"

Blaise pressed her head against him and shushed her. "I don't care, Pans. And I don't know. I really don't. But I'm worried about him."

"He's gone mad. He really has. And I can't do anything about it. I'm stuck here with my bloody tea and broken vases and…" Her words were swallowed up by her sobs and drowned gurgling in her throat.

"I'll see him. I'll go and see him right now."

Pansy shook her head. "He won't even tell us where he lives, Blaise, I…"

She felt Blaise's chest rise and fall in a deep sigh. "The reason that he won't tell us where he lives is because he's living around Muggles. That's what I reckon. Remember that hippogriff-complex thing I was talking about? Draco may have burned down his own home, but he's still too much of a Malfoy to admit to living within cursing distance from Muggles. But I'll find him. I doubt there are too many Unplottable Muggle flats."

Pansy flushed with rage. "I hate this house arrest shit. I can't _do _anything. You're lucky you don't have a Death Eater father. They don't trust my family name."

The arms around her stiffened. "I wouldn't say lucky. And that's not the only reason you're here. If I recall you were awfully eager to hand over ickle Potty during the Battle."

All the blood in her body seemed the stagnate as the heat was sucked from the room. "You know we don't talk about the…" Her words crystallized in the icy air and she shivered.

"Number nine, Parkinson. She's on number nine."

"Your mother?"

"Yeah,"

"Sorry,"

"Isn't everyone?"

"Let's talk about Draco."

"I don't feel like dealing with him, either."

"Astoria is a bitch."

"Mhmm," His grip around her tightened.

"Blaise?"

"Yeah?"

"Do you want tea?"

"You haven't made it all already?"

"_Blaise_,"

He turned her face toward his own. "You know what I want, Pansy." His breath dusted over her face, warm and alive. She blinked.

"Blaise…"

And before she knew it he had pressed his mouth against hers and despite herself she was responding just as eagerly, filling his mouth with her Earl Gray taste, running her fingers down his back… She pulled away.

"You bloody tease!" hissed Blaise, grazing his lips over her neck.

She shook her head. "It's too soon, Blaise. Blaise! Really! Stop!"

He obeyed.

A sharp tingle remained on her neck where he had kissed her. "Thank you, Blaise." She wasn't sure if the faint whisper ever reached his ears. "Go see Draco for me? Please?" She craned her neck and touched her lips to his forehead.

Blaise complied without protest, and walked to the fireplace. He tossed a handful of floo powder and the room was bathed with vermillion light. "Pansy Parkinson," he said, shaking his head before stepping into the flames. "Queen of hearts. Owner of none."

"Tell him to come and see me. And you come see me too."

"Move the vase next time. And do try to pick one that isn't so ghastly." And he was gone.

Pansy decided it was time to make some tea.


	7. Epistulae Draconi

**Epistulae Draconi **

Draco was nearly halfway down the street to the framer's when he realized that taking a moving picture to a Muggle establishment for framing would most likely not be productive toward his goal of lying low. With a rumbling groan, he turned around and trudged back down the sidewalk and up the three flights of stairs to his flat. He had to admit it was nice to have a staircase that didn't decide to transport you to the dungeons or the other side of the building while you were halfway up. But there was that whole matter of Muggle locks. Keys, to Draco, were the most annoying devices to have ever been invented. For the most part he hadn't even bothered locking the flat door due to his habit of forgetting his key, until he was broken into, or, rather, until a burglar simply walked through his unlocked door and left him a note saying, _Mate, you don't even have anything worth nicking. Lock your door. Signed a very angry robber_. Draco remembered the note with a flash of anger as he fumbled the key in the lock. Of course, he remembered, most of his possessions were currently smoldering on the ground somewhere in the mundane British countryside. He twisted his key violently, and the door swung open to reveal Draco's flat.

A faint cheese-like odor lingered about the place, settling in and polluting every article of clothing or food that passed through the door. Draco could not figure out why the hell his flat smelled like cheese, but it was slowly driving him mad. He kicked off his shoes with a resounding _thump _as they smacked against the unfinished walls, leaving behind another trail of skid marks. The sound was accompanied by the constant dripping of his broken faucet.

It was smaller than his entire bedroom at Malfoy Manor and certainly not where he had envisioned himself residing. Not to mention the cheese smell.

He sniffed and twisted his face into a grimace as the stench invaded his nostrils. Moaning, he flopped down upon the tired-looking sofa, which groaned and sagged under the sudden weight. There was a shriek of metal whining as Draco sat up and pulled out the Daily Prophet, running his fingers over the picture of his burning inheritance, trying to feel the heat smolder at the tips.

He had a monstrously throbbing headache and great purple splotches marring his skin where Astoria had pummeled him. An angry splash of reddish blue encircled his eye, a symptom of its less-than-enjoyable meeting with Astoria's fist. He sighed, and the sofa breathed with him, rising and falling in time with his diaphragm.

Shutting his steely eyes, he breathed in the ash and smoke of last night's memory, savoring the sooty aroma of his clothes, remembering the orange light dancing in his vision as the monster of his childhood had melted into oblivion.

A soot-blackened hand extracted a small box from Draco's robes. He examined it, a messy smile stretching his mouth. "Merlin, I see Arthur Weasley's attraction!" he said, rubbing his fingers over the scratchy side of the fire stick box. He was just repressing his desire to light one when he was startled by a tapping sound at his window.

_Tap tap_ _tap tap tap_. A dozen or so taps rang out in succession, overlapping one another and causing Draco to glance up at the window. Several owls were perched on his outdoor railing, staring at him through gigantic yellow orbs and fluttering their wings anxiously. Each one clutched an envelope.

Draco rose and slid open the glass door leading to his balcony, which was home to one chair and a pathetic excuse for a potted plant whose sagging condition would have given Professor Sprout and her Longbottom protégé simultaneous aneurysms.

A sharp pain caused him to cry out as the beak of a particularly angry looking horn owl attacked his fingers. Aegis, Blaise's owl. "Alright, alright." muttered Draco, sucking his wounded finger and wincing as a metallic taste met his tongue. "You first." He snatched the envelope from Aegis' talons and opened it.

_D.M-_

_Arson, honestly? I never had you pegged as an arsonist. An arsehole, certainly. But arson? Ten points to Slytherin._

_- B.Z_

_PS: Parkinson's quite worried about you. I thought a quick shag would lighten her up but, surprise, she still has the hots for you! What a bore. Anyway, do humor her and Floo by. She's done nothing for the past five months but drink excessive amounts of tea and then try to force it on me. _

_PPS: Congratulations on the engagement, by the way. When should I break out my dress robes?_

_PPPS: Get off your high hippogriff and tell me where you live, you prat. I know it's a Muggle flat, and frankly, I don't care._

_PPPPS: Has it got ninety-six rooms too?_

A strangled sound escaped Draco's throat. "Merlin, Zabini!" He grabbed a quill, ink, and half a piece of parchment and bent over to lean on his lopsided coffee table.

_Zabini- _he scrawled.

_I don't know where everyone's gotten this arson idea. It's my bloody Manor; I can do with it as I please._

_- Malfoy _

_PS: Parkinson is always worried about my gorgeous head. It's ridiculous. And the only reason you included that is because you're too embarrassed to admit your personal anxiety over my mental state. Zabini, I'm touched!_

_PPS: I am ignoring this part._

_PPPS: I'm going to regret this_. Biting his lip and swearing, he scribbled his Muggle address on the parchment. _I'm warning you now, though. It smells like cheese._

_PPPPS: Four PSs? Are you a girl, Zabini. Ten points from Sytherin. _

_PPPPPS: And you can't award me house points. I was the prefect. Five more points. _

_PPPPPPS: If your bird bites me again, I will Avada Kedavra it before you can say Unforgiveable. _

He handed the parchment to Aegis, who blinked before taking off. Draco moved on to the next bird, and felt his stomach perform a series of complicated backflips. Pansy's owl:

_Draco,_

_Come by. I swear I won't make you drink tea. And I've moved the vase._

_Love from,_

_Pansy _

He sifted through the jumble of words cluttering his mind, and after several minutes found the best he could select were _Pansy, I will try to come by soon. I like tea. Draco. _The words were dry and unfeeling and exactly how a Malfoy should express love. He was pleased with his response. Pansy's owl gave him a look that said she'll-have-your-arse-you-prat before fluttering off with the note.

The next owl that shuffled up was unrecognizable to Draco. Large and tawny, its golden eyes were magnified by spectacle-like circles around them. It hooted at Draco and stuck out its foot for him to grab the letter. He squinted at the scratches of ink he supposed were letters. Whom did he know with that poor of an excuse for motor skills? His eyes dropped to the smear of ink at the bottom of the page that served as a signature. He rolled his eyes at the owl, which blinked in return. "You can't be _serious_!" he drawled, and moved to the top of the page and began to read.

_Malfoy,_

_I saw the Prophet today. Are you alright? I thought maybe we could get together and discuss your trial a bit. I thought I might testify. Don't roll your eyes._

Draco's eyes paused mid-roll.

_I mean, who else are you going to ask? I'm your best shot at freedom. _

_Just think about,_

_Harry Potter _

Potter again! What was this? Didn't he have orphans to go rescue from broom cupboards or something? Deathly Hallows to collect? Giant snakes to kill? Whatever it was Potter did in his spare time these days.

_Potter-_

_First of all, I never did study Ancient Runes at school, so I had a hell of a time attempting to read your pathetic excuse of handwriting. Honestly, who taught you to write? I shudder to imagine the symbols the Weasel comes up with when he holds a quill. Second of all, are you asking me out on a date? You wouldn't want to anger the Weaslette, would you? And why are you even doing this? Some strange form of guilt? You see, this is why you were never in Slytherin. We don't get guilty, we move on. Anyway, has it ever occurred to you that perhaps I want to rot in Azkaban? Did you see those pictures in the Daily Prophet? A cell in Azkaban is much safer than my fiancé. So, thank you, Potter, but I am afraid I must decline your offer. I'm irredeemably guilty, after all. _

_Best,_

_Draco Abraxas Malfoy_

At the sight of the next owl, Draco's eyes widened to the size of a house-elf's. The snowy owl staring accusingly at him now was his mother's, but that was not what worried him. What had made a lump the size of a rather large scone fill his throat and start his heart pounding in a frantic drumbeat in his chest was the red envelope Athena clutched in her talons. Smoke curled from its corners. "A _howler_? Really, Mother? Do you think I'm a first year?" He snatched the envelope from the owl, half expecting it to singe his fingers. Despite himself, he paused nervously before tearing open the envelope. _I really don't feel like dealing_…

"DRACO… ABRAXAS… MALFOY!" Narcissa's magnified voice boomed from the enveloped.

With a sigh, Draco cupped his hands around his ears. Focus. He counted to ten. He would count to ten and it would all be over. Focus. _One… two… _

"- LIKE A COMMON MUGGLE ARSONIST-"

_Three…_

"- OLDER THAN HOGWARTS ITSELF! BUILT IN 843 BY YOUR GREAT-GREAT-GREAT-GREAT-"

_Four… five…_

"GRANDFATHER TARQUINIUS-"

_Six… seven…_

"- FREEING THE HOUSE ELVES-"

_Eight… nine…_

"- YEARS AND YEARS OF PUREBLOOD MARRIAGE, AND YOU, LIVING LIKE A MUGGLE AFTER SEVEN YEARS OF MAGICAL EDUCATION-"

_Ten… _his eyes snapped open. "Are you fin-"

"A DISGRACE TO YOUR FATHER, A DISGRACE TO YOUR GRANDFATHER-"

"Oh, bloody hell." _Eleven…_

"A DISGRACE TO MY FATHER, A DISGRACE TO THE ENTIRE NOBLE AND MOST ANCIENT-"

_Twelve_…

"-WOULD PROBABLY BURN YOU OFF THE FAMILY TREE IF YOU HADN'T ALREADY BURNED THE ENTIRE THING DOWN-"

_Thirteen…_

"- ALREADY WANTS TO END THE ENGAGEMENT. I SPECIFICALLY TOLD YOU TO KEEP OUT OF ALL TROUBLE AND YOU GO AND SET A THOUSAND YEAR OLD MANOR ABLAZE-"

He was at eighty-three when suddenly the Howler ceased, let out an almighty shriek, and burst into flames, curling to the floor in some sort of smoldering effigy to his mother's nagging.

Weakly, Draco pulled out another sheet of parchment to write his response.

_Dear Mother,_

_It was not arson, for the last time. Malfoy Manor is (was?) my property, as I am the head of our family, and, subsequently, I can do with it as I please. This includes, but is not limited to, setting it on fire and watching it burn. Don't fret, Mother; Astoria saved quite a few heirlooms. Grandfather Abraxas will be hanging from the wall screaming about death to all Mudbloods shortly. Enjoy your holiday, Mother, and don't let the bastards get you down. _

_Your loving son,_

_Draco _

Athena nipped at his finger prior to flapping off. A final owl remained perched on his balcony, looking particularly angry with him. "Oh come off it!" said Draco, grabbing the last of his letters.

_Hello, . _The loopy handwriting was small and neat. Whose was it?

_This is Astoria Greengrass. _"Bloody hell,"

_Your fiancé? Perhaps you remember me. And yes, unfortunately, it's going to stay that way. Turns out pureblood betrothals are unbreakable vows, and as your father is receiving the Kiss and will subsequently be pathetically clinging to life for at least another few years, it appears as though we will be getting married after all. Father is quite enraged with you, however. Should make family get togethers a little awkward. Of course, I don't know where these get togethers will be, seeing as, if I recall, you burnt down our house last night. Grow a pair and tell me where you live, and do me a favor and get Parkinson out of there before I come. You're probably shagging her brains out this instant. Remember, love, you're a commited man now. Anyway, we're stuck in this situation. We hardly even know each other though, and perhaps with a conversation or a thousand I could get to the point where I only vaguely detest you rather than loathe you with every fiber of my being. We could build a marriage off of the first one at least. So, we may as well go on a date. Yes, Malfoy, I'm asking you out. I mean, we are skipping the whole courting process which leads up to the engagement, but oh well. Daphne told me of a little Muggle place where no one from the press will find us and you'll actually be served without being hexed and threatened with Azkaban. Imagine! It's not a fancy place, and Daphne bet me that we would be married five years before I saw you in Muggle jeans. Don't do anything stupid. Well, anything else. _

_Sincerely,_

_Ms. Astoria Verity Greengrass_

A date? With his fiancé? He shrugged. It was better than Potter. _As you wish_, _Mrs. Malfoy, _he scribbled on the back of her note. _Tomorrow at seven-thirty? Send me the address of the place. I'll be less than presentable. Somehow, I seem to have acquired a black eye. Draco Malfoy. _

Draco sent the owl away before collapsing on the couch, allowing the blackness eating at the corners of his vision to consume him and carry him off for well-deserved sleep.

**A/N: I normally hate when writers put shouting IN ALL CAPITAL LETTERS, but I figured for a howler it was necessary. Trust me, it looked a lot less intimidating when I had it normally. The next chapter is the one I've most looked forward to writing. Witty banter and angst abound. **

**All comments/queries appreciated. **


	8. Antithesis

**Antithesis **

By the time seven had rolled around the following day, Draco was seriously considering the date with Potter. "I don't know why you're so anxious." he advised his reflection, which currently looked a bit more frazzled than Draco generally liked. Nervous fingers grazed through slicked back hair, attempting to control the small escaped tufts of white blonde. He cringed. "It isn't as if you have to impress her; you're already getting married." A steely gray eye narrowed as it gazed at the reflection of its partner, puffy and bloodshot beside it. Tenderly, Draco raised his fingers to the eye and prodded at the enflamed purple splotch marring the canvas of his face. A wince. "Damn it all, Greengrass." With one last application of gel and a quick glance at the restaurant's address, he exited the flat.

Muggle streets were unfamiliar to Draco. Painfully crowded and bursting with a disharmonic chorus of honks and shouting, they made his head and lungs ache for the empty halls of his Manor. The hollow echo that he was simply another London body entwined with the strange knowledge that his double serpent ring would get him no special treatment. Muggle London gnawed relentlessly at his mind, feverish and foreign. The pounding in his chest from the knowledge that he was still a Malfoy, and that the blood rushing through his veins was of the highest purity… He bit his lip as a passerby jostled past him.

"Draco Malfoy, Slytherin prince and Death Eater extraordinaire," drawled a voice from beside him, sounding small and strange with the background chorus of automobile horns. "living like a Muggle."

He turned to see Astoria, her face twisted into a smirk, looking lost and small without her robes and heels. She had dressed simply; a form-fitting pair of jeans and a Slytherin-colored jumper, and seemed to Draco suddenly very much like a seventeen year old girl.

They were in the world of the Muggles, he told himself. Simply two young people, out on a date. Nothing more, nothing less. Here where the rivulets of black ink crisscrossing his forearm were only an interesting tattoo, a conversation starter, something to be marveled at. Here where the number of O. he had amassed counted toward nothing. He shook the thought off. "I prefer to think of it as living like a particularly well-off squib." Draco said.

Astoria grinned before hopping off the bench and grabbing his hand, entwining her slender fingers with his own. "Look at us! Our first _date_!" she crooned in a voice sopping with poisoned honey. She swung his hand back and forth as her eyes scanned his body, appraising him. "Merlin, you look awful! I really hit you. You could have at least worn jeans. I have ten galleons on it with Daphne."

Draco let out a long groan, the exhaust in the air scorching his lungs. "Malfoys don't wear jeans."

"Yes, and I do believe that Malfoys don't burn down their thousand year old Manors, but somehow my faith in that statement has been quite shaken."

"There's the spirit!" She yanked him through the door and into dark of the restaurant.

Hazy silence hung in the air like enormous rain clouds, threatening to burst at any moment. The sudden coolness of the air-conditioning sparked tingles crawling up and down Draco's spine. _I should have gone with Potter. I should have gone with Potter. I think I could even stand the hair now… _

He was back to his original plan- focus. He focused on the ceiling fan, watching it swing round and round in an endless loop as Astoria examined him in his peripheral vision. They sat, silent and still with darting eyes and fidgeting muscles that kept telling them to get up and leave.

"What will it be tonight?" chirped a waitress with bouncing pony-tail, her face round and forgettable. Of course, all Muggles looked the same to Draco.

He floundered helplessly as he read the foreign words of Muggle foods, the words stumbling from his mouth, clumsy and unsure. He gesticulated vaguely at the first option he saw.

Astoria ordered the same, her smirk still etched across her face, an infuriating tattoo.

"Would you stop that?" he muttered, knitting his eyebrows together and sneering.

"Stop what?" Her cheeks dimpled with her upturned lips.

"Are you going to sneer like that the entire time? You look like my _grandfather_."

"I'm your reflection, silly." she retorted with an eye roll.

Draco couldn't repress it any longer- his mouth twisted into the nastiest sneer he could conceivably conjure. "Pardon me?"

Another eye roll. "I'm imitating you. Do you see how terribly depressing you look?"

The sneer currently stretching over his face would have stopped the heart of any self-respecting Hufflepuff, but Astoria simply flashed him a bright smile. "I'm thinking."

"_Brooding _is not _thinking_, Malfoy."

"You wouldn't understand."

The sneer remained, a small rosy downturn of her lips, drawing Draco's focus. "I swear, it's like going to dinner with a ghoul. When was the last time you stepped out in the sun? You look about as vivacious as Moaning Myrtle after a weekend holiday in a blocked drain."

The corners of his mouth were stitched so tightly downward he was surprised his face did not simply shatter.

Astoria tucked a loose strand of hair behind her ear. "Malfoy, be a darling and tell me what it is I actually ordered."

"A burger and chips," he said, slumping into the booth and allowing the plastic cushion to swallow him up.

"Meaning? And for Merlin's sake, sit _up _, Malfoy. You're shorter than I am when you sit like that." she snapped.

Ashen eyes peered over the table top into the ice of her blue ones, her gaze stabbing into him like the thousand-knives feeling from being submerged in freezing water. Shuddering with a deep sigh, he slid back up into a sitting position. "It's like a meat sandwich. But hot. And chips are like potatoes, I think. Except… not."

"Oh, I'm so glad you clarified that for me. Hot meat and not-potatoes. Charming."

Draco grunted.

"Did Draco Malfoy just grunt? Where's the witty comeback?"

Heat bloomed over his face, a red wound. "Sod off,"

Her sneer turned upward into an equally annoying smile. "My, the Muggles have done one on you…"

They spent the next thirty minutes in a fog of silence broken only by smatterings of surrounding conversations and the flicker of cheap fluorescent lighting. He felt the same emptiness he had felt in the streets, felt the same gnawing invisibility that was consuming him.

"I'll make you a deal," she said suddenly, setting down her sweating drink before wiping her hands on a napkin. A fluorescent light flickered with a dying breath. "I can't stand to sit here with you brooding enough for ten bloody Slytherins. I have things I want to ask you; you have things you want to ask me. So, we'll make it a game. A question for a question. An answer for an answer."

A pause. A crackle of electricity as the light sighed again.

"And we answer truthfully." said Draco slowly, letting the words drop from his lips with meticulous care.

"Of course we do, otherwise there wouldn't be much of a point to the game, now would there?"

_And we answer truthfully… _A small green vial flashed in his mind. "I've got some veritaserum back at my flat."

Astoria examined a chip before popping it into her mouth. Her nose wrinkled, spreading lines crisscrossing over her face. "I prefer house-elf cooking, personally. Are your elves decent chefs? Oh, wait, _you've set them all_…"

"Veritaserum," he repeated. "And at least I didn't let them _burn_. Even Granger and her house-elf liberation squad can't scold me for that."

Another smile crossed her rouged lips. "I don't need veritaserum to be honest. I have nothing to hide. It's pointless to hide things from each other. I'd rather find out about you now than the day before the wedding."

He cleared his throat. "Very well."

"Good." She stirred her straw thoughtfully. "You ask first."

**A/N: So, I know that this is rather short, but Draco and Astoria's conversation has exploded into a five thousand word epic. So we'll see what happens. I think I cursed it before by saying I was excited to write this (now the next) chapter. Oh well.**

**All comments appreciated! A review always makes my day. **


	9. Veritaserum Sans the Potion

**A/N: Kinda emo. Meh. Draco's kind of a downer sometimes. Enjoy! All comments appreciated. **

Draco watched her white hands in their circular stirring motion, his eyes bouncing from the dark green of her Slytherin jumper to the glint on her ring finger. It shone yellow in the light of the cheap Muggle fixture above their table which spread runny light over them like cracked egg yolks. Encircling the digit was a thin silver band encrusted with an emerald similar to the one in his own ring. An engagement ring. "You've got another year at Hogwarts." he said.

"Yes," She lifted her eyes to meet his.

"Are you sixteen yet?"

"Seventeen," she corrected, and for the first time Draco noticed the softness which mollified her harsh gaze, the childish pink that bloomed over her cheeks in contrast to her dark and pointed pureblood features.

"I wasn't supposed to marry you," The thought occurred to him as the realization pushed itself from his mouth.

"Not a question," she chided softly, her eyes sparkling ice-like with the reflection of the dim half-light.

"Was I originally to be betrothed to Daphne?"

Her eyebrows shot up, creasing her forehead. "Good! You catch on quite fast! I was wondering when you would realize that. Daphne changed a bit after the Battle. Found out she was engaged to you and took off."

"Took off? And what exactly is the problem with being betrothed to me?"

She snorted, but a sudden softness relaxed her mouth, blurring its edges. "It wasn't you, even if you are a prat." An expert flick of her wrist launched a crisp at his end of the table. It bounced off the corner and fell to the floor. "She just… sort of… _broke_. After the Battle, that is. Cried for days. Wouldn't come out of her room. Finally ran off…"

"Ran off…"

"With a Muggle. Father nearly fainted. I would tell you to update your family tree and burn her off, but it appears as though you've b-"

"Who is he? The Muggle." The flames of the past night crept through his memory, stinging his eyes and singing his hair. Draco bristled at the thought.

Astoria slumped her shoulders in a bemused shrug. "She isn't a Greengrass anymore. Father formerly disowned her, but seeing as she married the Muggle, it doesn't matter much. Right common name, too. Tim. Works at a coffee shop. Daphne finds it to be marvelously exciting."

"Has she mentioned to him that she's practically wizarding royalty?" he asked.

Another shrug. She settled further into her seat, her face dappled and fragmented by shadow. "I'm sure it'll be a bit of a nasty shock when then Hogwarts letters arrive. Anyway, with Daphne burnt off the tree, Father simply moved down the line of Greengrasses. He had a contract with Lucius for the marriage, and I'm Daphne's replacement."

"Lucky me."

"You are lucky! Daphne's gone mental. And you know she's always been stuck-up. I'd hate to be married to her. Anyway, my turn. The other night when you were pissed, you weren't at a Muggle bar; I could smell it on you. You were at someone's house. Whose?"

"Pansy Parkinson's. What did I smell like?"

"Is that your question?"

"Is that yours?" Draco retorted.

"Fine. Tea. What did you two do?" The suspicion hung heavy in her voice.

"Got pissed, obviously."

"But besides that."

"No. We didn't _shag_, if that's what you're so interested in. If you must know, she declined my offer."

"Well, at least Parkinson respects the monogamous bonds of matrimony more than my fiancé. Do you love her?"

"You already asked a question. Do you despise me? I believe that's more important."

She paused, looking distant for a moment. "Do you recall how we first met? You were a third year. That's not my question, by the way."

"Enlighten me."

"You called me the 'ickle Greengrass' and convinced me there was a secret swimming pool at Hogwarts."

"Ah."

"The 'secret swimming pool' to which you sent me? Professor Snape's personal quarters."

"That always gets the first years. They bugger off before he catches them, though. Zabini and I loved doing that."

A shudder passed through her. "Well, I opened the door. I'll leave it at this. There are some things you can never unsee. My question. Do you love her?"

Draco shrugged. "Persistent, aren't we? Pansy and I…" A frown. "I suppose."

"That's not particularly convincing. I'll have you know you won't get by on Valentine's Day with an 'I suppose'."

Another shrug. "We've always been… complicated. She needed someone and she was the only person with whom I could admit that I needed someone as well, and that was basically the entire foundation of our relationship. So, yes, I do love Pansy Parkinson. Not necessarily in the ways you're implying. I'm not sure myself. But… I love her."

Clinking forks and smatterings of laughter from the surrounding tables penetrated the silence that hung veil-like between them. Astoria cleared her throat.

Draco sipped his drink, nonchalant. "So, do you play Quidditch?" The question felt ridiculously fluffy and out of place as he asked it.

Astoria snorted. "Quidditch? I ask you about love and you respond by asking me about Quidditch? That's not my question, by the way. No, I've never much been into Quidditch. Mother says it's plebeian."

"Says the girl eating Muggle burgers."

"You call me a girl. You've done it before. You think I'm too young to marry."

"That's not a question. And I'm counting the Quidditch one. So it's my turn again."

Her eyes spelled protest, but she said nothing.

"What was it like going back to Hogwarts that September first after the War?"

Astoria stared into her drink, swirling it into a carbonated whirlpool with her straw. The ice clinked softly. "Merlin. That year…" she licked her lips as her chest collapsed in a sigh. "Some people from your year came back, you know. For their N.E.."

"I heard. Granger returned, naturally. Unfortunately for her, they don't seem to offer school credits for destroying horcruxes."

She nodded. "Hermione Granger. And practically all the Ravenclaws. I'll tell you about the first day of term, I suppose… McGonagall took all the Slytherins outside the Great Hall along with the first years. She informed us that, for the time being, Slytherin house was being absolved for our safety and others. We were to be resorted. The Sorting Hat didn't take too kindly to it. It resorted each of us into Slytherin, and McGonagall was livid. Pulled it out of the Great Hall for a 'chat'." A laugh chimed from her throat. "Anyway, her chat was fairly unsuccessful. The Hat went totally off its rocker."

"It's a magical talking hat. I don't think it was ever particularly _sane_."

"I'm _talking_, Malfoy." Another crisp was thrown halfheartedly in his vicinity. "So, the Hat. Went _completely_ nutters. Started sorting everyone into Slytherin and refused to shut up. It sang some song about Salazar Slytherin and started hissing at everyone in some horrendous form of Parseltongue. I swear it's gotten senile."

"So…" Draco asked. "is there still a Slytherin house?"

"Of course, you idiot. The Sorting took ages, though, since it had sorted everyone into Slytherin. And You-Know-Who dying seems to have Hufflepuffed us up a bit. Three half-bloods and a Mudblood."

"What?"

"Three half-bloods and a Mudblood were sorted into Slytherin. I mean, the normal crop of purebloods still made it in. But still. The Baron had a bit of a fit. Now when he sees us in the corridors he tries to run us through with his sword. Unsuccessfully, of course." She shrugged. "It's still Hogwarts, though. The Slytherins don't talk much about the War. We have days of remembrance. They're…" she looked around the restaurant, and slumped with a sigh "It's just strange to think that the people here don't know. We have all these moments of silence and memorials and they don't…" Her eyes met his. "They don't see anything." She continued, "The professors are all on about house unity, though. It's a bit ridiculous. My friends and I made these brilliant "House Unity is for Hufflepuffs" shirts that we wear to Quidditch matches. Proserpina Flint even bewitched the serpent on front to devour the badger. I'll have her make you one! It would be simply _adorable _if we matched." The sarcasm dripped from her voice like acid. "In the end, like I said, it's still good old Hogwarts. Did you snogg my sister?"

A spray of soda exploded from his astonished lips, smattering the table and earning him a first-class Astoria sneer. "I'm not sure if you should know that."

"Tell me. Although _that-_" she disgustedly flicked droplets of soda from her fingers. "-astounding display of poise answered the question."

"_Yes_, I snogged Daphne. It was only on and off for a few months. She has got nice…"

"I _know, _Malfoy!" She made a face. "I'm not surprised. Daphne snogged everyone."

Draco raised an eyebrow. "Jealous, are we? It's not my fault that I…"

"Gregory Goyle."

He let loose another fizzing rain of soda which sprayed over the table, soaking his chips. "Merlin's saggy left bullock, that's disgusting!"

"Like I said, she snogged everyone."

"Yes… but…" he gagged. A sudden seriousness hardened his face. "Greengrass, in sixth year… did anyone notice? Did I seem…?" He allowed his words to fade into the air around him._Why didn't anyone ask me? Why didn't… _

Her gaze flitted away from his. "Slytherin boys are brooders by nature. I've no idea why you think it will attract girls, but you always _brood_. You sit there sullenly and look like you're dying from a combination of pure disgust and utter despair. But in sixth year I could tell it wasn't just brooding. We girls in the common room… we used to time how long you boys would stare at the same spot on the wall, brooding. You have the record. It was before the Christmas holiday. Five hours. Congratulations."

Draco remembered the Christmas holidays… a constant pressure behind his eyes as nervous tears threatened to escape, the palpitations in his chest as he realized that the cabinet was beyond fixing… he gulped. "That does seem a bit excessive."

"You hardly ate. You looked like shite. And there were whispers. Everywhere you went, there were whispers. People were frightened of you… Draco?"

"Is this your question?"

"Can I see it?"

_It._. The serpent stain that haunted his forearm. Thick rivulets of ink formed a snake looping around a skull that slithered not on his skin, but in his veins. The Dark Mark was in his blood, polluting it, marring it, alive and ablaze. He rolled up his sleeve.

She ran her fingers over it, fleeting and hesitant to touch the scar. "And you haven't felt…"

"Sometimes I think I do. But, no, I haven't. I doubt I could summon everyone even if I tried. And no, you can't get rid of it. If you could get rid of it, Father wouldn't have to snogg a Dementor. The Mark of a Death Eater is eternal, even if our master was not." He narrowed his eyes at the thing, knowing if he closed them he would feel the searing white-fire of his master's will scorching and blazing in his blood. "In retrospect, you would think the Dark Lord would have had the sense to make it look a bit more socially acceptable." He pulled down his sleeve. "Anyway. You said that I think you're too juvenile for marriage. Do you believe that you're too young?"

Astoria cocked her head, and a dark lock of hair escaped its pony-tail prison. "I'm seventeen. I'm of age. You're barely nineteen. I hardly see the difference. Also, _fifth year_."

"What about it?"

"Whichever one of you was casting that silencing charm, you deserve a T on your Charms O.W.L. You and Pansy, in the common room? We _all _heard you going at it."

The soda flooded fire down Draco's throat, fizzing as he forced himself to swallow rather than spray the table again. "First of all, it wasn't _my _Silencing Charm. Second of all, er, it wasn't Pansy I was with…"

"Merlin's beard, please don't tell me you shagged _my sister_!"

"Er, no, because you see… itwasblaisezabini." he gargled out in a jumble of syllables .

"Pardon me?"

"I said it was Blaise Zabini."

"You? And Zabini? You're joking!"

"Er, yes?"

"Merlin's beard, that's disgusting!"

"I was curious?"

"Bollocks! I heard you two, and no one is _that _curious. Merlin, I should have been able to tell- you dress better than anyone I know. So you're-"

"A poof? Merlin, no. It was just a difficult year for me, and Zabini was there and…"

Astoria's head was against the table as she doubled over with great shaking whoops of laughter. "You and Blaise Zabini! Honestly? You and Blaise Zabini? Does Parkinson know?"

"Blaise and I decided it was best not to tell…"

"Oh, have I got something on you now! Blaise Zabini! So should I not be worried about Pansy popping over? Should I be having a talk with Zabini about staying out of my husband's knickers?"

"Honestly, Astoria, it was just that year and…"

"I was hoping you'd be bent. At least then we'd have an excuse to have wild affairs that made the Daily Prophet or something. Give Rita Skeet something to do. Now we have to…"

Draco groaned. "Let's. Not. Go. There. Now."

"I was going to say stay committed. But, no, let's not go there. Tell me."

"Tell you what?"

"You and Blaise."

"There's nothing to say. We don't exactly talk about it. It was only fifth year."

"And?"

"Alright, and six year. Merlin, I swear you and Pansy are Legillimenses!"

"No, just women."

"That's what- you know what? Never mind. I don't have to tell you anything about Blaise and me, if you find it so disgusting. Apparently I'm the open-minded one of the two of us."

"You? Open-minded? Don't make me laugh."

Draco sniffed.

"I say 'Mudbloods', and you think…?"

"Filth. But- oh. _Oh_. Well. That doesn't count."

"Mmhm," She looked disappointed. "Are you sure you aren't bent? That could have been so much fun. We could go shopping for our next date."

"I promise."

"Damn. You and Zabini… imagine what I could get out of you with veritaserum."

Draco chose to ignore this. "So tell me. You were a Greengrass- a pureblood Slytherin girl. Coming into Hogwarts, you had to have known that you were doomed to marry one of your housemates. Who did you want that to be?"

"You,"

"Bollocks,"

Astoria laughed. "We're not lying, remember? I like blondes, alright? And you were disgustingly wealthy. Were."

"Lovely foundation for a marriage."

"But Blaise Zabini always had a right fine arse. I knew you were Daphne's, so I was hoping for him. Of course, then you went and burned down our entire inheritance, but if I think about that I swear I will hex you so hard your grandkids will feel it… oh, _Merlin_." Her complexion suddenly blanched. "_Our-_"

Draco slammed down his drink, sending a wave of soda cascading over the rim. "Don't say it. It's not worth it."

"Fine. What names do you fancy? For our _children_," the word rolled off her tongue with a sickening smile.

Draco stared at her blankly. "Er," he murmured.

"You're so depressing. Personally, I like the name Scorpius. It's even a constellation like yours."

"Scorpius Malfoy? Are you joking? A constellation? How long have you been planning this?"

"I think it sounds quite masculine. And that was four questions."

"It sounds like a disease. 'I'm sorry, sir, but it appears you've contracted malignant Scorpius of the Malfoy'."

"It does not. Fine. What are your suggestions?"

Pause.

"Draco for a boy and Astoria for a girl?" he squeaked.

"Your originality is overwhelming. What about Abraxas? You're Draco Abraxas. Wouldn't it be simply adorable if our son were Abraxas Draco?"

"When I was six I walked in on my grandfather Abraxas drowning a 'mouthy' house-elf."

"Oh."

"Exactly."

"Your go."

Draco slumped in his seat. "I need to think of a good one. You go."

Her blue eyes softened and slanted as the contours of her face morphed into a slightly sad expression. "Have you killed anyone?"

"Yes," he said slowly. The word tasted like lead on his tongue.

She nodded, unsurprised. "I know you have. I just wanted to hear you say it."

"Are you disgusted by me?"

"No," she said quickly, and then looked directly into his eyes. "Malfoy, if you could kill anyone right now, it would be yourself, wouldn't it? I'm realizing that now. You're the disgusted one."

A harsh laugh exited Draco's throat. "Merlin, no. I'm not a _mental_, Greengrass."

"I didn't say that," she said. "I simply meant…" She swallowed. Her voice dropped to a monotone whisper. "When you look in the mirror and see yourself you feel sick, don't you? You hate yourself, Draco. You hate yourself more than you ever conceived you could hate something. Ever bit of skin, every hair, every breath you feel hate. You feel your heart beating against your chest and it infuriates you because it sounds so _alive_. It makes you want to vomit, doesn't it? You feel selfish for breathing. You feel disgusting. You look at yourself and all you can do is loathe what stares back at you. It's not the kind of hate you have for another person, the hate that makes you simmer and boil, it's the kind that makes you sweat ice and your breath freeze. Every breath you take feels like a dagger because every second you live feels like a lifetime, an undeserved lifetime when all you want is for things to end. You are disgusted by yourself."

His throat was dry and cracked. "Are you-?"

She shook her head, letting out a small laugh. "Suicidal? No; don't be stupid. But I can see you. You've always been a tad dramatic. But it's obvious you want it. Why don't you do it, Draco? Why don't you end it? I watched you in sixth year, _sixth year _and I could feel the hate surrounding you."

"Are you telling me to go kill myself? Wonderful first date."

"No," she said softly. "I'm asking what's stopping you."

"My epitaph. _Draco Malfoy- Death Eater_. _Draco Malfoy, Useless Git_. I can't let it say that. I can't sit here for the next seventy years with this mark on my skin and the memories of my cowardice. That's why I'm look forward to my trial. They say they go quickly in Azkaban, the ones who don't care."

"Have I mentioned that you are the most utterly depressing person I have had the misfortune of meeting?"

"Several times, in fact."

"Do you know why you don't like me? I challenge you, don't I? It's because in the last two days, I haven't lied once to you, and now you have to stop lying to yourself."

"It's getting late." Draco's voice was meek and small, wobbling.

"I'll be getting home, I suppose. I enjoyed this. I'll owl you, Malfoy." She stood and for a moment seemed to consider wrapping Draco into an embrace. She settled for a pat on his shoulder.

"At least one of us did." said Draco, watching her turn and leave, his shoulder tingling.


End file.
